A Red Sun Rises
by DayStorm
Summary: Soul mates are rare. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone has one. But for those who do; nothing can keep them apart. They will always - always - find each other. (This story is being rewritten from chapter 1 . . . will not continue updating until I'm "caught up" to where I left off)
1. Preface - Seventeen Missing

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM****: **_Hi all! This is my newest story and those who know me already know that I tend to focus on a single fic at a time, putting my thoughts and energy into moving things forward. I write stories, not eye-candy. Haha But see, unlike my previous fanfics I intend this to be more of a "book" than just a bunch of one-shots cut up into chapters. There will be a real story here, with a driving plot and even though there is romance in here the romantic part is not the sum total of this story. Characters will be as true to themselves as I can make them and I've started this with a pretty clear idea of where it's going to end so . . . enjoy!_

**Preface**

**SEVENTEEN MISSING**

* * *

"I care about her survival. I smell war in the air. And with every war,

there is the innocent victim who could have been spared if they had

just walked away."

– **Klaus Mikaelson**

The Originals; S01E08

* * *

I didn't come to New Orleans for any of the reasons people travel to a city like this. I wasn't looking for adventure. I wasn't interested in love or companionship . . . I certainly wasn't expecting to find a reason to stay. To tell the truth, I was only supposed to be here for a few days. A week if I had to, but not longer than that.

There's so much to say. Too much to explain but it feels right to try and work through the events leading up to what came next. My story . . . _**our**_ story, starts with the disappearance a person who should have had nothing at all to do with any of this.

Her name was Erin.

My cousin. A relative not a sibling though that distinction had never mattered to us. We were close. We were sisters of the heart, if not by blood and that part meant so much more than anything else could. Or ever would.

What we had was an odd connection. Being as close as we were, you would think we'd have a lot in common. Things that bound us to each other but Erin and I were actually very different people. She was fearless. To be clear, I was never particularly scared of anything. I was fast. I saw where things were going whereas she rushed right in and dealt with the consequences as they came.

Erin actually lived in the city of New Orleans and though she was a local she was _**not**_ a native. She wasn't born there, having instead moved to the city with her mother shortly after her sixth birthday. They came and just never left. I, however, was born and raised just over three thousand miles away. A long drive . . . faster by plane but even that could get tedious.

A Seattle native, I felt wildly out of my element whenever I was fortunate enough to visit. It wasn't just the unfamiliar humidity or the foreign scents of these streets. History practically bled from the air here. There were days where it felt as if all I needed to do was close my eyes and quiet the mind to hear the echoes of centuries past. Of all the lives that had come and gone.

I was accustomed to spending my summers in New Orleans with my cousin. Hot, hot days spent in shorts and tanks while we wandered through the famous French Quarter or caught a ride into the city proper. It was August, now. Late in the month and though I usually came in July and would go home to spend the rest of the summer holidays with my friends . . . things were different this year.

To be fair, Erin was not the first girl to go missing in the Orleans. She certainly wouldn't be the last. She was the eighth out of seventeen who were gone. Not just girls but boys, too. They were all snatched right off the street in broad daylight. Witnesses everywhere and somehow, no one saw anything.

It didn't seem possible.

I didn't know any of the others who were missing but when my cousin was taken I knew that I_** had**_ to come. Only I never did.

For whatever reason, I stayed in Seattle while other people searched without me. Family. Friends. Hoards of volunteers donating their time and effort into scouring the city and surrounding swamp for the seventeen Missing. No one found anything.

No clues. No signs of them anywhere. There was no explanation for it. Those who were taken seemed to have been wiped from the face of the Earth.

People stopped believing that Erin – or any of those others – would ever be found. There would be a memorial funeral performed to put them to rest. No bodies and they were just . . . I think it was more for the families. They needed someone to give them permission to grieve and heal. To move on with their lives.

I should have been angry. Infuriated by the injustice but to be honest, I could only feel cheated. Indignant, even, on Erin's behalf. I came to attend the funeral of a girl who might have still been alive.

Did they really expect me to say goodbye without ever knowing for sure?

I suppose, if there was ever a reason for me to stay in New Orleans, than that would be it. To get those answers I so desperately wanted. There was nothing else for me in the famed Crescent City. Only the memory of what had happened to Erin and that . . . that was incomplete.

I was going to go home. Back to Seattle where I would try to forget and gradually, I would find it within myself to move forward. To let go and forgive those things I was powerless to change. My cousin was very likely dead and I could not bring her back.

But I guess the Universe had a very different plan for me. I was about to find myself in a place I would never have been if that isn't exactly where I was meant to be. And I wouldn't be alone, there.

_**His**_ name was Elijah and he was . . . he was something else.


	2. Chapter 1 - They're Coming

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 1**

**THEY'RE COMING**

* * *

_Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, "Where have I gone wrong?"_

_Then a voice says to me, "This is going to take more than one night."_

– **Charles M. Schulz**

* * *

I wouldn't know it until later, but I saw him for the first time four days prior to actually meeting him. Because of that, whatever bond existed between us was not yet cemented but it was _**there**_, and the power of that bond was . . . amazing.

All it took was a quick half-glimpse of dark hair in a sea of people. It was so brief that I should not have noticed this one person out of the hundreds in the street. But I did. And the strangest part is that despite the immediate thrill of unexplainable recognition, I wouldn't think of him again until four days after that.

Four days until he was standing right in front of me.

OoOoOo

They were following me.

I didn't know who they were, only that they were there. Somewhere close by, always just out of sight. It wasn't a good feeling, knowing I was being watched. It was even worst knowing there was nothing I could do about it.

That's not true.

There were people I could have told. I was being stalked, wasn't I? I could have said something to someone – just one word to let the people closest to me know the trouble I was in – only I never did. There was an actual reason for my silence, beyond the fear I felt at what would happen if I dared to say anything. Those "reasons" would have seemed ludicrous to anyone else but they were mine and I was committed to this.

I said that I didn't know who was after me but that, too, wasn't exactly true. I couldn't have pointed them out, but I knew a few things. I knew they were the same ones responsible for the hoard of missing teenagers down in New Orleans. I knew that there was more than one of them. How many was still a mystery but I got the impression of lots of eyes watching. Stalkers all around and it was not simple paranoia that made me feel that way. One person could not have had me so totally surrounded all the time. And as striking as it was to know for sure that the people who were responsible for the slew of kidnappings down in New Orleans were now coming for _**me**_ the part that made me pause – the part that seemed particularly strange is that they hadn't waited for me to come to them.

I was in Seattle when I first became aware of eyes watching. Three thousand miles and clear across the country from their hunting grounds in New Orleans. That meant they'd left to come find me at home, unaware that if they'd only waited I would have been there in only a few days. It was no secret that I planned to spend the end of the summer staying with my dad in New Orleans. I wanted to be close, just in case Erin came back. She had already been missing for months so the odds were . . . yeah.

Having my stalkers chase me across the country only confirmed what I'd suspected. They hadn't known my schedule beforehand. That was huge and I wasn't sure what to make of it yet.

It made me wonder if, despite their frightening persistence and the flawless maneuvering required to pull off seventeen _**perfect**_ abductions – impossible! – I was not actually one of their original targets. It was as if I were someone's change of plans. A last-minute mark.

By the time I boarded the flight headed South, I had become acutely aware of _**Them**_. I knew they were there, though I couldn't tell if any of them were on the plane. That part didn't matter so much. Thirty-thousand feet in the air . . . if something happened there was nothing I could do about it so I wouldn't waste my energy worrying. But from the moment I disembarked, I could feel them again. Watching. Waiting.

For what?

What were they waiting for?

I found myself wondering more and more if it was this way for Erin before they took her. Did she have to endure weeks of knowing somebody was there? Following. Always watching. Did she also stop to wonder about the delay? At some point, it would have been clear they were after her . . . how long did she have to wait before they finally took her?

From the airport, I was met by my father and was relieved to find him waiting for me at the gate. I hadn't wanted to be alone. _**He**_ was happy to see me. Glad that I'd decided to come for the week, despite the disappearances plaguing the city. "Plaguing" was his word. I wasn't sure seventeen out of thousands and thousands of people could realistically be called a plague but I understood his concerns. I was roughly the same age as the others . . . older than some but still within the age-range that was being considered part of the pattern.

He'd missed me, he said. We only ever saw each other during these summer visits. He worried that I would stay home this year, and even though he thought it would be safer he was glad that I was there. I listened to him, smiling and hugging my dad tight. Thankful he didn't embarrass easily and would let me cling to him a little longer than absolutely necessary for politeness. That persistent sense of eyes everywhere ruined the moment. It made it hard to linger at the airport, exposed in the crowds where too many faces and unfamiliar voices jarred what remained of my nerves.

With my dad's arm hooked over my shoulders making me stumble a little as we walked, I kept glancing around. Scanning faces for any that did not seem to belong. Or anyone that appeared too interested in me, beyond the normal cursory glances that didn't actually mean anything. Truthfully, I didn't really expect to see anything but there was _**one**_. Only one that gave me pause . . .

A shock of dark hair, only half-glimpsed in the mess of people loitering in the bright Louisiana sunshine just outside the main terminal doors. A split-second where I felt the cool sweep of instant recognition tickle the back of my neck and then he was gone. Swallowed by the crowds and my father's arm pulling me in the other direction.

But that was then. Days and days ago, when I first arrived.

I hadn't given that first day very much thought, mostly only because I couldn't really remember it. I had be so afraid. Deathly afraid! I was so sure that this was it. They would be coming for me _**now**_. I was in their territory, their hunting grounds. Whatever they were waiting for, I'd walked straight into their hands . . . but day one was quiet. Nothing happened. I was left alone to spend time with my dad, hanging up my clothes in his guest room (technically, _**my**_ room) and get reacquainted with his small apartment. We went out for dinner, to celebrate my arrival.

It wasn't until the fourth day, once I'd realized that my scheduled week in New Orleans was almost up that I admitted I was procrastinating. There wasn't much time for me to do what I'd come here to do. Three days left until I was expected to fly home.

I had no real expectation of actually making my flight. Of that, I had no doubts at all. I would not be going home ever again and even though a part of me raged against the injustice of it all (why me?!) I had resigned myself to this. If they took me . . . well, I would deal with it when it happened. But until then, there were too many things I still needed to get done.

I left my dad's apartment early the morning of my fourth day in New Orleans, hoping against all hope that today would not be the day I was finally taken.


	3. Chapter 2 - Noises in the Hall

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 2**

**NOISES IN THE HALL**

* * *

"_I live in my own little world. But it's okay, they know me here."_

– **Lauren Myracle**

* * *

Cold water dribbled from my chin.

Tap water that tasted like copper piping but that felt very good splashed over my flushed face. I was hot. The air outside steamed with humidity and even within the air conditioned rooms of my aunt's house it wasn't possible to really escape the Louisiana heat. It crept in around doors and through windows in searing white waves.

My aunt's house, what would have been called a bed-and-breakfast in any other city was located right off the famous Bourbon Street. A relatively small establishment, it offered only eight rooms open to guests but even on the off season those rooms were booked tight. Growing up summer by summer here with Erin, I was accustomed to the steady stream of people moving in and out. Things were different now, of course. With my cousin gone, stolen so boldly right off the street and the persistent, very real threat that I would be next . . . it was hard pretending I wasn't scared. The fear ebbed through the day, so that I could still function like a normal human being but the tension never went away. That hyperaware watchfulness.

I was being hunted.

The Whisky White Inn (my aunt's idea of a joke . . . _**Bourbon**_ Street was essentially next door) was predictably full up, and I was willing to accept that the people staying here were most likely just tourists but every unfamiliar footfall or soft cough or creak of a door opening only seemed to tighten the knots in my stomach. What if one of them was actually one of _**Them**_?

I shivered as heat swept through me followed by a quick prickle of cold. Chills. I might have been overheating in the cramped bathroom. A space just large enough for a toilet and a pretty ceramic sink. I wet a facecloth and lifted my hair to rub the back of my neck. Closed my eyes to try and absorb as much of the cooling relief as I could.

A trickle of water ran down my back, following the length of my spine like an icy finger growing steadily warmer as it descended. There were noises coming from out in the hall. The low buzz of voices and he heavier thump of men's footfalls. I turned my head to look into the bedroom section and the sight caused a fresh swell of heat to roll beneath my skin.

Bars of white light lanced through the blinds I'd closed against the sun, cutting over the bed and crawling up the opposite wall. I braced both hands on the sink basin and leaned my weight forward, struggling against the whirl of heat-induced dizziness tilting the room.

Resentment burned some place in my chest. Brief but very bright.

I couldn't blame Erin for being one of the seventeen who were kidnapped. That was not her fault. But I resented my cousin for pulling me into this alongside her. My missing, very likely dead cousin-sister-best-friend. She trusted me because we were close and because there was nobody else. Her words, not mine. I did trust her – sort of – but I couldn't ignore what else she'd done. I was in this mess and _**that**_ was all her fault. I could definitely lay blame there . . .

I clung to the sheet of yellow pad-paper folded in the back pocket of my jean-shorts. A rather large sheet considering it only contained three paragraphs of information, written in Erin's smooth, rounded handwriting. I got it in the mail three weeks after Erin was kidnapped. As far as I could tell, she'd sent it the day she disappeared. Not a text. Not a phone call. A letter in a neat white envelope. I hadn't even known Erin knew _**how**_ to send a letter!

Months later and I still didn't understand what she'd written to me, but from the moment I tore open the envelope I'd known it was important. She was vague, in the letter. But one thing had been made very, very clear. _**Come to New Orleans. Don't lose this letter.**_

Well, here I was.

I'd just spent the better part of the morning ransacking my dead cousin's room searching for . . . I really didn't know what. Erin had been so secretive in her note and I wished she'd been just a little more specific! As much as I resented the faith she'd placed in me, I was actually trying.

Trying and failing, if the progress of this morning was any indication.

I curled my fingers into the sink basin. Struggling to pull my mind away from my inner turmoil and _**focus**_. My head came up as I suddenly became aware of something else. Something had changed.

The sense of being watched, so prevalent these past few weeks grew heavier. I gasped, both hands flying to my heart as the beat sped up too quickly for my body to adjust to the new rhythm. It pounded painfully in my chest, so hard and hot I thought it would burst. What was this? Was I having a heart attack? No. The rhythm evened out and the sharp pain receded into a numb pressure and then was gone altogether. In only a few terse moments, I was fine.

But that . . . that had been pure panic. My pulse racing in direct relation to some threat I hadn't noticed. Not consciously, anyway. I dug my fingers into the smooth ceramic of the sink and pushed off, stumbling a little. Uneasiness sharpened as I very suddenly realized what was changed. The footsteps out in the hall were growing agitated. Pacing. Pacing.

Even from the little washroom, I heard the distinctive squeak of slightly rusted hinges. Erin's bedroom door made no noise, but the room right next to hers was not as well maintained. No guests stayed there because it was mine. It was the room I used when I came here but wasn't staying with my dad.

Only I was not _**in**_ my room, was I?

Someone else was.

I held my breath, listening to the footfalls thumping loudly right on the other side of the wall. I could hear what sounded like the hiss of electricity. It took me only a moment to realize they were voices whispering. Soft voices that sounded like the buzz of static.

No. No!

They were _**here **_. . .

I closed my eyes tight, every organ in my body dissolving into liquid from terror and I almost fell to my knees. Crushed beneath the weight of what was happening. But I didn't do that. A few seconds of quiet cowering was all I allowed myself. Glancing quickly around the small washroom, checking that there was no immediate escape from there, I deliberately stepped out of my shoes. Barefoot now, I took both sneakers and placed them in the small space between the toilet and the wall.

Nobody was supposed to be in Erin's room. _**I**_ wasn't supposed to be here.

If anyone came in to snoop around, they would know that behind the toilet was not a normal place to find a pair of shoes tucked away . . . but I was counting on nobody noticing. I mean, who would think to look see what's behind a toilet? So there should be no evidence of my presence should someone enter the room to look for me.

I moved from Erin's small washroom into her bedroom proper, stepping carefully as if it were possible for my bare feet make a lot of noise on the carpet. I walked towards the wall dividing our two rooms and pressed my ear to painted plaster. The wall felt rough and warm against my cheek. I closed my eyes to better focus on that static-hiss.

They were whispering to each other. Two distinct tones. Two people. I could scarcely make out what they were saying through the buzz, but by holding my breath and standing very, very still I could start to hear actually words.

_**They'll never know.**_

_He__** will . . .**_

_**Hurry.**_

_**She isn't here.**_

_**Outside?**_

_**No. He's already here . . .**_

Bewildered, I pulled away from the wall and nearly fell down when the heel of my foot caught on the edge of the rug. I froze, hardly breathing as I waited to see if they'd heard the sudden thud of my other foot coming down hard to catch myself when I stumbled. The static hiss continued. There was no change in the sound, or sudden rush of motion as they realized how close I was. Just a few feet away.

Sticking my hand in my pocket, I grasped the folded sheet of paper in a fist just to assure myself it was still there. Erin's letter to me. I was almost more afraid of losing it than I was of being found out. But it was there. Tucked securely in the pocket of my denim shorts, deeply enough so it wouldn't fall out by itself.

There were more steps in the corridor. People passing but not leaving. Ten, twenty sets of booted feet all trumping back and forth. Pacing right on the other side of the door. I could have locked the door, but I hadn't and now it was too late for that. They would hear the k-chunk of the deadbolt sliding closed and despite the lock, the door was only just wood. Anybody could come straight through, with enough motivation. My phone . . . my phone was back at my dad's apartment. A slim piece of plastic switched off and charging on my bedside table where I'd left it.

The one time in my life I leave my phone behind is the day I actually need it!

I couldn't call for help. No way out through the obvious exit . . . my gaze slid to the window.

Oh, no.

Yes.

Not giving myself the chance to consider what I was doing, I hurried over to the window. Pushed hard against the hot glass and swung the window wide open. Muggy hot air swirled into the room. Right away I started sweating again, so that my skin felt sticky. Clammy. I climbed unsteadily up onto the windowsill and sat down with my legs dangling out. A part of me really could not believe I was going to do this. The other part knew there was no other way.

Ironically, it wasn't the first time I found myself faced with a window and a drop.

I was seven. Erin was up in Seattle, spending the winter holidays with me and my parents. This was before the divorce, of course, and long before Erin would end up missing . . . we – both of us – had been full of fun and buzzing on sugar. We'd dared each other to leap out my parents' second story bedroom window into a deep snowdrift directly beneath. Neither one of us actually did it. Even fearless Erin couldn't bring herself to jump.

This was a lot like that winter, years ago.

Two stories off the ground. A window. A jump. Difference being there was no snow to cushion this particular fall. I felt my resolve waver as I stared down. Twenty feet onto asphalt?

The buzz of voices grew louder. I turned my head, frightened with paranoia making it seem as if _**They**_ were only seconds away from coming into _**this**_ room.

Ah, hell yes I could jump!

Facing forward again, I released my hold on the windowsill.

The initial fall was terrifying. A quick whirlwind of hot air and the brutal clutch of gravity. A sharp, hard pain as I landed. Instinctively, I let my legs give out from under me. It lessened the force of the impact. I dropped to my knees, scraping my palms on the grimy asphalt.

I stayed where I was a moment, kneeling on the ground. Struggling to find enough air to _**breathe**_ through the relief tightening in my chest. Who knew relief could be as crippling as panic? Finally, the knot loosened and I gasped. Sighed. I was in a short alley that cut behind two other shops and a restaurant. The smell of garbage from the large dumpster further down steamed in the heavy heat, catching at the back of my throat as if it were liquid. I let my gaze travel beyond that and fixed on the bright rectangle of light from where the alley came out onto another busy street. But it looked far, and there were other alleys branching off from this one.

The quickest – and safest – way out was back around the front of my aunt's Inn. It would place me right at the front door, possibly directly in the path of any of _**Them**_ but I couldn't risk the longer walk. I was completely alone and . . . no one would see if something grabbed me. There would be no one to help.

I started walking, wincing a little as the rough asphalt and pebbles pinched the soles of my bare feet.

"Not that way," a voice called out.

I stiffened at the unexpected voice, but didn't actually freeze. A surprised pause. I turned around, heart thudding very hard but not anywhere near the panic I'd felt before. The guy standing in the narrow alley loitered only a few feet from where I was and it was odd that I hadn't seen him right away. It took a few seconds to notice him, my eyes scanning the empty alley twice before landing on the figure standing so near to me. No time at all to make up my mind that he wasn't one of _**Them**_.

Smoky blue eyes and a sweep of soft blonde hair. He wore a crooked smile and what looked like genuine interest in this girl who fell out of the sky . . . he looked ordinary. Just a guy, maybe only a little older than I was. Nineteen. Twenty, but even that was pushing it.

"You alright?" he asked me.

Not really no. But I couldn't say that.

And I wouldn't say a word about the people who were after me, the people who were so near that if they only looked out the window I would be spotted. I needed to get moving. Get out of here and take the longest, most roundabout route back to my dad's apartment as possible.

The boy standing so still, blurring slightly in the heavy shadows moved suddenly forward. Coming straight for me. I stiffened, watching cautiously but still somehow not afraid of him. He raked a hand through his hair, fingers combing through soft wheat-colored strands.

"Look, you can't go that way," he said again.

I glanced towards the end of the alley. At the bright, hot sunshine beckoning so temptingly.

"Any particular reason why not?" I demanded. Took a step back, careful to keep some distance between us.

The boy sighed loudly, though not deliberately. He seemed almost frustrated with the situation, grasping for an appropriate response but rather than just shrug and go away as I hoped he would he actually offered a slight smile. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes and I brought my hands up, ready to ward him off if he leapt at me.

The blonde moved closer and I retreated just a little. He said, "You'll thank me for this later."

And before I could move, before I even registered what he said he'd already lunged forward and grabbed me by the arm. I tugged hard to loosen his hold. Startled beyond fear I didn't even shout out or scream. I just pulled, scrabbling my feet on the ground.

"He's here," the boy muttered, eyes glinting. "He's here. This is it. Right now."

No!

I tugged again, throwing all my strength and weight into it. I expected the blonde to resist. Instead, he voluntarily released me and the force of my struggle combined with the sudden release knocked me so far off balance that I toppled. Shoulder and hip collided with the solid brick wall of a building, effectively stunning me.

I spun to face him, temper flaring.

Only instead of the blonde I bumped into the solid chest of a man standing _**right there**_. Too close. I smacked into the man and he grasped my arms in what must have been a purely instinctive gesture.

His hands were cool and dry on my skin.

Something inside both of us trembled at the contact, and I knew he felt it too as his solicitous grip tightened painfully around my upper arms. I had only a split-second to recognize his dark jacket, black tie and dark hair before the world shattered and I tumbled into eyes as deep and dark as jet.


	4. Chapter 3 - Elijah

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**Chapter 3**

**ELIJAH**

* * *

"_Have you ever experienced something so profoundly wonderful_

_that when it was taken from you your life felt unbearable?"_

– **Elijah Mikaelson**

_The Originals_; S01E11

* * *

It came as the most amazing, exhilarating rush of power imaginable. Like liquid heat sweeping through me and currents of white static. Lightning shooting through my body again and again. Power but not my own. Not his, either. This was something that came from within both of us and yet, somehow, it remained separate.

And it was real.

Real enough so that when the world shattered and broke apart, pitching me straight into those dark eyes as if I were being sucked into a vacuum . . . it was there. I could feel it over everything else going on inside.

Blindsided by the sudden sensation of falling forward; of tumbling through a vast open space that was not empty at all but filled with noise and motion. Of things like ghosts hurtling past at blinding speeds, brushing my skin and tangling my hair. I sank deeper, helpless to stop from falling through that full darkness. A rush of air, followed by the shocking sensation of bursting through a thin membrane like I was passing into a soap bubble and all at once, my head swelled with the rich scent of forests and sparkling water. Of fresh, clean air and earth and summer. I heard children laughing. Voices I recognized but didn't really and then the low, mournful keen of a wolf.

The shock of falling ebbed and was replaced by a sense of floating. Safe. Cushioned on air so that it was as if I were being cradled. But then things changed again.

Images. A cascade of images like snapshots flashed through my mind. One after the other, too fast to register any of them but still they came. Again and again and again. Dizziness swamped my mind as I tried to slow the tide, to hold them back so that I wouldn't be burned. Heat rose up, scalding and it was like the speed with which those split-second pictures flashed by were somehow creating friction. Heat. Hot. Burning.

_**Enough!**_

No. Not enough.

Images, simple picture sharpened. I still couldn't make out what I was seeing but now there was more. My mouth filled with the dark taste of blood. Heavy, viscous and metallic with the sharpness of salt cutting through. I gagged, choking on blood that wasn't there. Flavors changed and I understood that the blood I tasted came from thousands upon thousands of veins. Thousands of throats torn open, gaping wounds releasing the rich, hot rush of blood.

My mind began to buckle beneath the onslaught. I didn't know how much more of this I could stand but it still wasn't over. Whatever was happening was almost done, and I could feel myself being drawn slowly out of this, but there was _**more**_. Always, it seemed, there would be more . . .

In those last few seconds, the last moment before I was released I felt something altogether different than the rest. It was a pressure. Just this immense pressure pressing in from every direction. The only thing I could think to compare it to was like sitting at the bottom of the Pacific, with the full weight of the ocean pressing in. Crushed under the weight of _**years**_. An infinite amount of time. Incalculable. Eternal.

Immortal.

Then it was over.

We were drawn apart like two cells diving, separating into two distinct beings but still . . . connected somehow.

We both felt the shock of coming apart. A jolt that shook my whole body, sending the both of us tumbling back and physically away from each other. And my god did I ever feel that separation. It was akin to ripping out an organ. The loss of it chilled me straight though, and it was something I felt acutely. Cold and the strangest sense of aloneness swelled, pressing up against my skin. Gooseflesh crawled up my arms, my back, and my legs. Prickling fiercely on my scalp.

I was back but even then, disoriented with my head aching and lungs gasping for air as if I'd been holding my breath through all of it . . . I wasn't back completely. We'd left parts of ourselves in each other and I remained conscious of that tiny flicker of _**him**_ still there inside me. In my head, it seemed, though the feeling appeared to be coming from somewhere around my heart. It was in my chest. A bright point of light shining like a star and it was _**his**_. It was a piece of him I would carry with me.

I know he felt it too. There was no explanation for where the certainty came from but I knew it. He felt the star piece that was _**me**_ I'd left behind. And it bound us irrevocably together.

We stood there, staring across the few feet of space dividing us. Panting and cold and separate though not entirely.

I realized I was clinging to the warm bricks of the alley wall. The muscles in my arms and legs trembled so that I couldn't really stand. Couldn't move. I'd just endured the most amazing, glorious sensation imaginable. For just a second, I had melded perfectly with another person and it was like every crack and crevice of my . . . of my soul, was filled up. There were no more holes inside me. No cracks. I was complete. For just a second, a moment in time, I was finished. Perfect.

But then I remembered the taste of blood. Rivers of blood. The vision of immense power coursing through my veins like molten metal. Burning me. The panic of feeling lives, thousands of lives snuffed out to sate my appetites.

I could still taste the phantom flavor of blood in my mouth.

And I didn't like it. Not at all.

I met the man's eyes without flinching. As strange as it seemed, I was not afraid of him. I should have been, and that part concerned me but I felt no real fear. Even my terror at being pursued by invisible stalkers was notably absent though I hadn't forgotten they were just upstairs. One look out the window and I would be spotted.

The man had brown eyes, not black as I had originally thought. They were beautiful. So dark that the color brought the depth in them forward. They were intelligent eyes. Hard, but not cruel and at that exact second as he stared right back at me, I saw how shaken he was. Also not frightened, but thrown by what had just happened to us.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The man recovered far faster that I did. Shaking with weakness, the wall at my back was all that kept me upright. He had the strength to stand up straight and even take a step forward. Closing the distance between us, though only a little.

"I –" he hesitated, seeming at a loss. Tried again, his voice surer this time. "I'm Elijah."

My eyes closed then, completely without my permission. Elijah. Why did it feel as if I were savoring the name?

"And you?" he prodded.

His voice was so smooth. Cultured.

Pleasant to listen to. I wanted to hear it again and that's why I answered. Why I gave this man, this stranger, my name when every instinct should have been telling me to shut up. To just go. Leave this place and him and not look back. People don't meld into each other. Not like that.

And wasn't that the greatest lie I could tell myself?

Whatever we just experienced, as terrifying as it had been, was the most natural thing in the world. It had scared me so, so badly but I felt that it wasn't supposed to. That hadn't been the purpose of the cascade of images and sensation that had poured into me like the damned Niagara Falls emptying into my mind.

I opened my eyes. Looked away, towards the busy street at the end of the alley. Glanced down at the dirty asphalt, cooked warm even in the shade. I felt myself starting to sweat again, now that I was back and at the mercy of the sweltering August heat.

I said, "My name's Rachel."

OoOoOo

It was as if the sun were slowly inching closer to the Earth. Heat rolled and swelled beneath my skin, where sweat dried as soon as it surfaced making me feel sticky and unwashed. Heat exhaustion thickened so that all I wanted was to lie down and rest awhile. Get my strength back. But the chills that seemed to be coming from deep inside and the too-fast beat of my heart were proof enough that lying down was the last thing I should be doing.

I was overheating, but more than that I had been overwhelmed by what just happened. My mind whirled, trying to make sense of the dizzying rush of images and sensations that had washed through me.

Elijah, however, appeared oblivious to the sweltering daytime heat. Dressed in a black suit, buttoned neatly over a snowy white dress shirt. Black silk tie. Slacks. Glossy black shoes. He could not have been more out of place in a back alley standing beside a reeking green dumpster. I could see no sweat beading on his forehead or dampening at his hairline. He looked perfectly cool. Like a man standing quietly in the air conditioned lobby of a hotel.

I leaned against the wall, letting it support my weight as I watched Elijah watching me. He stood straight, of course, one hand smoothing over the front of his jacket. He seemed uneasy. I got the distinct impression he was trying to figure out what to do with me. And I didn't like that at all. My very first thought was to wonder if he was even going to let me go.

Yes. _**Let**_ me go.

I closed my eyes then and turned my face away; a prickle of uncertainty seeping through the shock of what we'd experienced. I knew there was no way I could fight him if he chose to keep me here. If he made up his mind to stop me from leaving . . .

How could I be that certain? For one perfect, frozen moment our minds had melded into each other and as impossible as it seemed – as impossible as it _**should**_ have been – it happened and it was real. So much of him had become a part of me in that moment that I imagined the little tidbits of knowing and certainty I felt pricking at the back of my mind was because of it. As if a download of information was now safely stored in my subconscious. I didn't know him, and yet I _**knew**_ him.

Elijah seemed perfectly aware of where my mind had gone.

I heard his sigh.

"You can't keep me here," I said at last.

We both knew that wasn't true but Elijah didn't call me on it. Instead he moved closer to me. And wasn't it strange how I could sense his nearness? Like a physical touch, it was _**that**_ strong. Shoring up my courage, I turned to face him. Pushing off the wall so that I stood straight and met his gaze. Sunlight glinted in his dark eyes. Power. He wore it well. I stiffened just a little, but held my ground.

"No," he said, after only the slightest pause. "I won't keep you here."

Again, I felt a spike of power from the man standing so, so close. He intimidated me alright but I stayed still, sensing he meant me no harm. If anything, he seemed more intrigued than hostile. It really was as if he was trying to work out what to do.

Elijah offered a small smile. He glanced over my shoulder, his gaze scanning the busy street at my back. I did not take my eyes off him, though I was tempted to look too. Exactly how far were we from the end of the alley? Elijah shifted his gaze, sliding his eyes up the wall to the open window just over our heads. His gaze sharpened then, and I swear I knew the exact second things clicked into place for him.

"Will you meet with me?" he asked, eyes still locked on Erin's bedroom window.

I swallowed. Didn't respond.

"Tomorrow," Elijah said. He glanced down, fixing me with a look. "Wherever you'd like."

I understood he was giving me a choice. He was giving me time between now and then, but also giving me the option of choosing the location. He was not, however, letting me opt out of meeting him again. That part could not have been made clearer if he'd made it an order.

I stared at him, confused and tired. Worn out by the brutal heat. I knew I took too long to make a decision, but Elijah didn't press me. He waited.

I swallowed again, moistening my parched throat. Too tired to argue or be coy, I essentially just gave in.

"Café du Monde," I said. "You know it?"

"I do."

"Tomorrow, then. Around noon."

Public. Crowded. And in the middle of the day, during the lunch-rush where they would be at their busiest. A famous coffee shop in the middle of the French Quarter . . . it was as safe a place to meet as anywhere and I hoped – desperately hoped – that I wasn't making a mistake.


	5. Chapter 4 - Thunder Rolls

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**A WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **_Hi, all. Hope you're enjoying "A Red Sun Rises" so far. It's been a few days since my last update, and though this chapter isn't very long I really couldn't find a way to add more without sounding like I was rambling! Haha Still, I really don't think my chapter 4 is going to disappoint anybody. Enjoy! :D_

**Chapter 4**

**THUNDER ROLLS**

* * *

"_Remember, darkness does not always equate to evil,_

_just as light does not always bring good."_

– **P.C. Cast**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

The air hung visibly heavy, humidity thickening as the brutal heat began to buckle beneath its own weight. The dusk practically humming with the tension of an approaching break. There was a storm brewing.

_More than one,_ Elijah thought.

From where he stood, secure and invisible in the lengthening shadows he could see the girl moving about in the little apartment. Aware of how inappropriate it was to follow a girl so closely, Elijah had only meant to see her safely home after their encounter in the alley. And he had, though once she let herself into the building and he listened to her quick, light footfalls as she ascended the flights of stairs to the third floor he had not been able to make himself leave.

It was partly fascination that kept him there. He knew that she had no idea what had happened between them but Elijah was far older, and though he never imagined he would experience it for himself . . . he knew exactly what the shock of white power that had coursed through the both of them meant. He'd heard it described before but he never imagined it would be like that. A potent, driving connection that tied him to another so absolutely it was as if every cell and fiber of his being had aligned with hers. For one impossible, glorious second they had become one. One mind. Soul. Body. Then they'd separated, returning to themselves and yet, somehow, they would never be parted again.

She was his soul-mate.

There would ever only be one. And already he was feeling the draw. That slight, nearly imperceptible pull deep within his chest. So now he was on the roof of the grocers across the street from her apartment building. Elijah had spotted the man in the apartment immediately. A large human man with thick brown hair only just starting to gray at the ends. A man with wide, heavy hands and wide shoulders. He was preparing burgers in a pan on the stove when the girl walked in.

Elijah watched for a while before eventually dismissing him as her father. She was comfortable with him. Her voice easy and familiar whenever they spoke. She was very clearly not afraid of her father and so Elijah felt it safe in keeping his distance. The girl – Rachel – was in no danger and he didn't want to frighten her by appearing at her home.

She was lovely, though. The thought came to him and once it did, he wasn't able to send it away. He hadn't thought to really look at her when they were together in the alley. Still reeling from the shock of the soul-mate bond, Elijah hadn't bothered to notice much else. But she was lovely, truly, now that he had the opportunity to stop and simply observe her.

She moved like a dancer. Her steps were measured, as if she possessed a keen awareness of exactly how her body functioned. Every gesture deliberate, without any wasted motion. She was slender and tall with a fall of honey amber hair tied messily back to keep it out of her face though she'd left a few curling tendrils loose. Those she swept back behind her ears with a graceful sweep of her hand. Her eyes, the color invisible from this distance but it didn't matter. He remembered it clearly. They'd seemed so pale to him before. Gray as smoke with a crown of golden brown around the iris. Enchanting. Intelligent eyes.

Frightened eyes.

In the alley he'd been surprised by how directly she met his gaze. And by how steady her eyes were as she observed him immediately after the soul-mate bond was completed. She hadn't had any idea of what it was that'd happened to her and yet she'd fixed him with a stare so piercing it had genuinely startled him. There was fight and fire in her but also fear. Her eyes were shadowed. _**Hunted**_. He'd seen that look in people before. He'd seen it often enough to recognize it anywhere, and to know when _**he**_ wasn't the cause of it.

Electric light sizzled, snapping sharply through the clouds. A second bullwhip crackled, lashing violently through the darkness. Elijah turned his gaze on the sky, scanning the clouds boiling over the city. He waited, but no crash of thunder followed the whips of lightning. No noise at all. Another furious bolt dropped out of the sky, lancing straight down as if it were thrown.

Elijah returned his attention to the apartment building across from him. The windows were dark. The apartment silent. Both Rachel and her father had gone to bed already so nothing moved within. But the shadows moving over the redbrick outer walls of the building held his focus.

Was there something there?

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I woke with a start, eyes immediately sweeping the dimness for what could have disturbed me. At first I thought there was somebody standing by my bed. With my eyes closed, I thought I felt a presence but there was no one there. Damp tangles of hair were plastered to my face and neck. I was hot and sweating and shaking under the thick weight of my covers. As hot as it was outside, I shouldn't have been sleeping with blankets. After having removed the big square fan from my window so that I could close and lock it my little room had quickly become a furnace. But trying to sleep without sheets was impossible. Blankets offered no protection at all, but still. Knowing I was covered made it easier to close my eyes.

My sleep had been plagued by restless dreams I never could quite remember. I attributed it to the heat and stress and the paranoia of knowing I was being stalked by people I still couldn't place. And after the close call I'd had that day . . .

A dream. Just a dream.

I only imagined that someone was there, leaning over me as I slept. I only imagined the clawed hands reaching for my throat. I swallowed hard and coughed a little, my throat dry with thirst. The shining red numbers of my clock radio said it was only a quarter past three in the morning. Wonderful.

Lightning flashed and flickered. Startlingly bright. Electric purple. Lovely and eerie at the same time.

Unsettled, I hiked the comforter up around my shoulders and turned my back to the window. This was the sort of night where the very darkness seemed to breathe and swell with life. I didn't want to think about it, or figure why I would imagine something like that.

I was scared of the dark.

Could it be that simple?

I closed my eyes, snuggling deeper into my pillow. A moment later, my eyes sprang open again. There were noises coming from inside the apartment. I strained my ears, listening. The grownup part of me insisted it was something ordinary and benign like the noises houses make when they settle. Not ghosts or ghouls. Just wood contracting and expanding with the weather. My father was asleep in his room, with only a few inches of wall separating us. He wasn't much of a snorer, for which I was grateful but right then I would have appreciated sounds coming from his direction. A nice loud snore to let me know he was even there.

From the bed, with my back to the window, I could see out my bedroom into the kitchen. The way the apartment was set up, my room opened directly into the small kitchen/living room area. Not a nice setup when you're already on edge. I could see the green glowing numbers shining off the microwave on top of the fridge. A little lower, a coffeemaker sat on the counter next to the sink. My attention was immediately drawn there.

My eyes burned with tiredness but I just couldn't seem to look away. The tiny red standby light winked. Then it winked again. A bright red shine in the pitch black kitchen, where there was no windows at all to let in more light. Lightning continued to flash and flicker, brilliantly bright in my bedroom but not seeming able to reach further than that. Curious and scared, my heart thudding like a drumbeat in my chest, I continued to watch that tiny red coffeemaker light.

No. No . . .

The light winked again. Just a split-second out and back as if someone – or _**something**_ – were pacing in front of the machine. Then it stopped. The light went out and didn't come back on. I held my breath, staring at the exact spot where I knew the coffeemaker was placed.

No light. No light.

The light didn't come back on.


	6. Chapter 5 - Morning After

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**Chapter 5**

**MORNING AFTER**

* * *

_These woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

– **Robert Frost**

* * *

I woke that morning to pancakes.

My dad had gotten up especially early, just to go out and buy us a box of pancake mix and a little tin of syrup. The sheer sweetness of his gesture warmed me straight through, and the first thing I did was to throw my arms around his neck and give him the biggest hug I could manage. He laughed and held me tight for a second then sat me down at his little two-chair table set against the wall and insisted I let him make breakfast.

I understood that the surprise of pancakes was really only his way of filling our last few days together with something special. I mean, I was flying back to Seattle and he . . . he was staying here. It stung, knowing that he missed me so much while I was away. I missed him, too. But we, both of us, were stuck by our circumstances. I had to go home. He couldn't afford to visit with any regularity. I loved my dad and these summer trips meant a lot to him. So I did as he told me, and watched from the table as he leaned on the counter to read the instructions on the back of the pancake mix box.

"You're working late today?" I asked as casually as I could.

Dad grunted and pulled a large pot out of the cupboard. He didn't exactly have mixing bowls so it would have to do.

"Working early," he said. Then, "I'm sorry, sweetie. I was hoping we could have lunch but . . ."

"But things don't always turn out the way we hope," I finished for him.

He shot me an apologetic glance. I shrugged, aware that that wasn't what he was going to say but that it was close enough. And true, for all that. His plans could change at a moment's notice – the downside of shift work – while mine changed because I didn't have the sense to run away. Or the courage needed to run, as the case may be. I had a lunch date and . . . and I got the distinct impression if I didn't keep it then _**he**_ would come looking for me.

Elijah.

I closed my eyes, wincing a little as the sound of his name seemed to reverberate through me. Not an uncomfortable experience. It was a lot like that sinking feeling you get at the top of a roller coaster, right at the start of that first deep drop where it's like your insides go weightless. A strangely pleasurable sensation.

"What about you?" my dad said from his position at the counter. I glanced over. He was carefully measuring out amounts of beige pancake powder using coffee mugs. "Any plans for today?"

Uh . . .

"Thought I'd go into the city," I said. "Maybe catch a movie."

Wow. Now that was a blatant lie, but better than confessing what I really had planned. I was trusted, but I'm fairly certain my dad would put his foot down at his daughter going out to meet strange men in the French Quarter.

"Alone?"

My dad was looking right at me and all at once I realized my mistake. So caught up in lying about meeting Elijah I forgot about why wandering around New Orleans by myself would be considered a spectacularly bad move for most people. The serial kidnappings . . . it had been weeks since the last one but nobody really thought it was over. There had been long pauses between abductions before this. And as previously acknowledge; I was in the age-range the police were considering part of the pattern. As if I didn't know it already. Hell, it was the actual reason I was even in the city right now. Not to visit my dad but because _**They**_ were coming for me and I needed to go through Erin's room again. Yesterday's search was cut short . . .

I crossed my arms over my stomach, shrinking into myself as the magnitude of what I still had to do went through me. So many things, and now this new complication with Elijah – and I didn't know where he stood in all this. But for now, I was okay. Still alive and not tied and gagged in the back of a van. And thinking of Elijah conjured another unsettling image. The blonde boy.

Having had time to think about it, I realized that where I'd forgotten about the other person who'd been in that alley that day . . . he could not possibly have been there by mistake. It didn't occur to me until right that second even though it should have been so obvious. He was the distraction. He was there to keep me in the alley just long enough so that I would still be there when Elijah arrived. It couldn't have turned out better if I'd set it up myself. Getting trapped and cornered in Erin's room. Making the split-second decision to escape out her window. Ending up in the alley where the blonde was waiting for me. How could he possibly have known _**I**_ would be there?

I felt my mind churning with too many coincidences.

And I had to wonder if I'd really escaped anything. _**They**_ withdrew. My stalkers missed me at my aunt's Inn, fine, but they knew where I was staying. They were perfectly aware I was living with my dad while in New Orleans. For whatever reason, they'd come for me today but didn't follow through.

Had meeting Elijah bought me more time? Was it really _**him**_ that'd driven them back?

Alright. Okay, so no screwing around today. I would meet Elijah for lunch as agreed upon and decide what to do from there.

I didn't notice that my dad had finished making our breakfast until he set the plate down in front of me. He sat with a sigh and pulled his own plate closer. The tin of syrup sat on the table between us. I'd been too quiet, I realized. Not saying a word, just staring at my closed fists while I thought. Debated. Essentially just argued with myself.

Okay, enough of that!

I grinned at the stack of lopsided pancakes. They were not round, more like the shape of a circle drawn by a kid still trying to figure out how to hold a pencil, but they were the right color. Golden. Maybe a little dark but still well within the realm of edible.

"Do I rock, or what?" my dad boasted.

I laughed. "Dad? You da man."

* * *

Our breakfast was short, but pleasant. My dad had to leave for work and I washed the dishes and set them neatly to dry on a towel. It was so quiet in the apartment without him there. The buzz of traffic faint, due to a lack of windows in the kitchen. The noise seemed to be coming out of the bedrooms, where the walls were closest to the street. Then there was the hum of the refrigerator. The rhythmic _**tic-tic-tic**_ from the wall clock counting off the seconds.

I was perfectly alone. Fear trickled through the walls of contentment I'd put up just so that I could enjoy my time with my dad. I was alone. All by myself and the terror of the night before surfaced now that there was really nothing else to do but remember what I'd seen. Or what I thought I saw . . .

Pulling the plug on the sink drain, I turned on the faucet to wash the last of the soapsuds from my hands and to help the bubbles go down the drain faster. A car horn blared outside, the sound eerie because of how muffled it was. I turned to face the inside of the room, leaning back with my hands braced on the counter. The sharp gurgle as the last of the water was pulled down the drain was followed by what sounded like complete quiet. Like I'd been sucked into a vacuum. Just an illusion, of course. Fear making everything seem so much more ominous than it actually is.

I let my gaze roam over the kitchen. Microwave on top of the fridge, glowing green numbers boldly declaring the time at 0:00. I should fix that, I thought. It would only take a second and a quick peek at my phone to get the exact time. Or I could check the tic-tic-ticking wall clock currently pounding on my nerves. From there my attention turned to the coffeemaker sitting solidly on the counter right beside me. A clunky, second-hand but still fairly new black block of a machine. One of those that could hold up to eight cups, and can be programmed the night before to start brewing on its own in the morning.

My dad lived by himself. What the hell did he need that monstrosity for?

The little red standby light was on. It was very faint right now, in the light of day but in the pitch dark the night before it'd seemed blindingly bright. Like a laser; one of those beams that could drill through steel. It had seemed so menacing last night but now it was just this tiny little thing.

Creepiness crawled up my spine. I didn't move away from the counter or the machine and I couldn't bring myself to look away from that little light. In my mind, I remembered seeing that red glow blinking in and out. In and out. Light. Dark. My heart climbed into my throat as I felt some of that same terror rising within me again. Watching that light blink . . . there had been so many logical explanations for it. Maybe the tiny bulb was flickering. I mean, these things did eventually go out on their own, right?

But it hadn't looked like that. The light didn't flicker. It _**winked**_. Bright, bright red glow. Then absolutely black. It didn't dim at all.

It was like someone was in the kitchen. Like a real, solid body moving back and forth in front of the counter. Pacing restlessly. Someone had been in here. What they were doing was really beyond me but the more I tried to do the grownup thing and convince myself I was mistaken . . . the surer I became.

Oh. My. God.

I was shaking. Actually trembling.

It was early. Still too early to have anywhere to go but I couldn't stay here by myself. I grabbed my shoes on my way out the door, only stopping to put them on once I hit the street.

_**POV – Elijah**_

He was waiting for her when she arrived.

Elijah had very deliberately not followed her that morning as he had the night before, instead returning to the compound at dawn to rest and bathe. He had dressed with care, choosing to wear what he thought would be pleasing but not too formal for what he understood was going to be an important encounter. The shock of yesterday's meeting had been too intense for either of them to make any sort of real assessment of the other. And where she would still be confused (even if she'd spent every waking moment since yesterday thinking of him) he remained acutely aware of his soul-mate. The preciousness of it alone shook him to the core of his being. He would not lose her through folly. He couldn't afford to frighten her and she . . . she was so young.

So rather than dress formally for what was supposed to be a casual lunch in the French Quarter, he'd done away with his suit in favor of a wine purple dress shirt, top three buttons left casually undone. Black slacks and a glossy black belt. Not wanting any distractions, his only adornment was his daylight ring but that, of course, he wouldn't remove. No watch. Cufflinks. Nothing else.

He'd arrived at Café du Monde a full forty minutes early, wanting to be there when Rachel arrived and to his startled surprise she arrived only a few minutes after he sat down.

Elijah saw her immediately as she turned onto the street. Jackson Square was crowded at this time of the day, bustling with tourists and locals alike. Admittedly a good place to meet someone you only just met. Elijah smiled at that, tapping his finger on the smooth table in front of him. He'd realized the significance of the location the moment Rachel suggested it. Crowded and public.

She was no fool and the soft familiarity of the soul-mate bond had not lulled her into complacency.

Accepting it, Elijah had chosen a table outside of the restaurant where they would only be partially shaded from the sun. Carefully in full view of other patrons and the waitressing staff. He did it to make her more at ease. If she wanted to be seen, if she felt she needed witnesses to keep herself safe than he could not bring himself to deny her that.

He thought that she would see him immediately . . . and she did.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as she strode to the front door of the restaurant and disappeared inside but he didn't doubt for a moment she was perfectly aware of him. Elijah allowed another small smile, unconsciously tilting his head in quiet approval. She was testing him. Would he chase after her? Call to her?

No.

No, he would not and not because he felt entitled that she should be coming to him. He stayed seated at the table he'd chosen because _**she**_ was still very much afraid. She hid it well, better than yesterday but she was tired then. Now, awake and alert and more herself her fears were carefully – masterfully – concealed.

He kept his head bowed, staring into the mirror-like surface of his black coffee. His keen hearing picking out the steady beat of her heart out of the multitudes all around him. He did find it interesting how her heartbeat could be so familiar to him. He found himself listening to the rhythm, enchanted by the strong pulse. Knowing it was hers and that he would recognize it anywhere.

Not a moment later, Rachel sat carefully down in the chair across from him. Placed her _**café au lait**_ in front of herself, the cup clinking on the tabletop, and pushed a small plate of beignets between them.

A peace offering.

Elijah tried not to let his surprise show but she saw it.

_Observant little human,_ he thought with a small spurt of amusement.

He'd thought to learn more about her today while she studied him, but suddenly he wasn't so sure it would work that way. Elijah stared straight into his soul-mates hazel brown eyes and she met his gaze evenly. There he saw a quiet consideration. A deliberate intelligence.

They would meet as equals.


	7. Chapter 6 - Lunch with Elijah

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**A WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **_Hey, all. :) Just a quick heads-up. This chapter swings back and forth between Elijah's perspective and Rachel's fairly often. I think I've done a decent job of keeping this moving forward so that the back-and-forth doesn't confuse people but I still felt it fair to send up a little warning._

_On an aside, I would like to take this moment to appreciate Monkey-gone-to-Heaven__. A fellow fanfic writer, a really good friend and the person everyone has to thank for me getting this chapter out! Seriously. I could not, for the life of me, write this chapter and I still don't know exactly what the problem was. But Heaven sat patiently, just letting me bounce ideas off of her and eventually . . . ta-da!_

_I am her official Beta reader and yet __**she**__ ended up being a greater help to me whether she knows it or not. Check out her story _**Welcome Home, Nikita Grace**_ and her newer one, a collaboration project(not with me), called _**Covault and Knox**_. Both Teen Wolf fics, if anyone's interested._

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 6**

**LUNCH WITH ELIJAH**

* * *

You fascinated me

Cloaked in shadows and secrecy

The beauty of a broken angel

– **Warrior (Lyrics)**

_Beth Crowley; 2013_

* * *

I shouldn't have come.

But I was here now, and it would be rude to just get up and leave. And awkwardness aside, it was good to be out in the sun. Sitting in the warm, yesterday's heat beating down but softened by the wind flying off the Mississippi. A breeze that whirled, raking cool fingers through my hair and helping to dry the sweat from my skin. It was hot, still August-in-Louisiana sweltering but nowhere near as heavy as the day before. And with the rich, dark scent of chicory coffee and of sweet pastry, the soft buzz of conversation from other tables over the louder bustle of voices from the street . . . it was all very comfortable.

Elijah sat quietly across from me, lightly tapping a finger on the rim of his coffee cup. A small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sunlight glinted off the gold band of his ring, deepening the color of the little blue stone set in the centre. I found my gaze drawn there. Intrigued.

"You are observant," he remarked, voice cool but not unfriendly.

I looked quickly away, as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. Heat crept into my cheeks but it was easy enough to push that back down.

"I had noticed it before," he said to me. "Yesterday."

And that right there was my opening.

"What happened yesterday?"

Elijah didn't exactly sigh. He just looked at me and the seriousness in his expression, the consideration as he thought of what to say . . . I felt the same jolt of surprise at how dark his eyes were as the first time I'd seen them. Brown. Still very clearly brown, not black.

"Look, you wanted to talk," I said, prodding him. Despite his hesitation, I did have his full attention. It was fixed squarely on me as if I were the most interesting person in the city. I didn't know what to make of that so I chose to pretend I wasn't aware of his fixed interest.

"Actually, I said I wanted to _**meet**_ with you," Elijah clarified, emphasizing the word. His thumb tapped the side of his coffee again and, all at once, it occurred to me that he might not be as cool as he was letting on. Was he nervous, too? The idea helped ease my own nerves but it seemed so at odds with what I thought of him. Elijah carried himself with an almost palpable confidence. Like nothing in the world could possibly shake him. Unbalance him. Surprise him.

I'd surprised him.

I'd shaken him.

With the whiplash, terrifying yet exhilarating rush of power and connection we'd experienced together . . . I hadn't thought to wonder exactly what _**he**_ thought of it. I hadn't considered Elijah at all, beyond wondering what it meant. Who was he? It never occurred to me that he, too, might have been reeling from it.

Was I selfish? No. No, it wasn't selfishness. I was confused and scared so my mind hadn't gone there. I was sure that if I'd been calmer, I would have considered Elijah's feelings on all this before now. I never thought of myself as a selfish person and I didn't particularly like to imagine that maybe I was.

"Well, here I am," I said. "We're meeting . . ."

"Against your better judgment," he pointed out.

I hesitated. Shot him a look. He shrugged and I wasn't so aloof as to be completely unaffected by the way his deep, wine purple shirt slid smoothly over the skin it covered as he did. Silk. He was wearing silk. He said, "Rachel. You could not be more uncomfortable if you were sitting there under fire."

He said my name.

Forget everything else that just came out of his mouth . . . it was the first time he said my name and something deep, deep inside of me shivered with pleasure at the rightness of it. I had such a normal, average first name but the way he said it was like velvet. In his deep, smoothly accented voice my name sounded exotic and beautiful.

A few too many seconds passed, but I did actually manage a response to what Elijah had said. Against my better judgment? Like hell. "You didn't think I'd come, did you?"

"Truthfully, no. But I'm pleased you did." He added the last part with a small smile. Really just a slight pull at the corners of his mouth, where one side lifted higher than the other. It was a smile that reached his eyes, though. A touch of humor lit them and just the lightest evidence of a challenge.

No, not challenge. A dare.

To my surprise I felt my own humor bubble in response to his. He was handsome alright but downright _**hot**_ when he smiled like that.

Oh, clever. I wouldn't be distracted.

"You never answered me," I said. "What happened yesterday?"

This time, it was Elijah who hesitated. I would have thought he were hedging, unwilling to answer, but the hesitation seemed sincere. He didn't know what to say. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Why don't you tell me what you think happened," he offered. "And I'll tell you if you're right."

I wrapped my hands around my own cup of coffee, letting the heat seep into my fingers. Under the bright sun, my coffee hadn't cooled as quickly as I expected so it was still warm. I bought it to have something to hold on to. Not to drink. Caffeine would have been a spectacularly bad idea given how tightly wound I was already.

"So, you _**do**_ know what happened," I muttered, pitching my voice low. Elijah heard me but I leaned forward anyway, crossing my arms on the table. The plate of beignets I bought us was almost under my chin, now, and the dusting of powdered sugar on them tickled the inside of my nose. I held my breath and went on, "Who are you? I mean, who are you really? Whatever happened yesterday was . . . you realize I can't even lie to myself about it? What we experienced is impossible. By every right I should be able to pretend it didn't happen but it was _**real**_. I can't even wrap my mind around a denial. I just . . . I don't understand."

Silence.

I winced.

That's not what I meant to say. Every word had come out wrong. I sounded like a babbling idiot but Elijah wasn't laughing. He sat so still in his chair it was like he wasn't even breathing. Voices rose and fell around us, accentuating the sudden quiet at our table. Tension moved beneath my skin until I felt my body humming.

* * *

_**POV - Elijah**_

Elijah heard her – heard what she was saying – when she stumbled over explaining herself.

Rachel tried to do the natural thing when faced with an impossibility and deny the validity of her own memory of the event. Society should have taught her to lie to herself but she hadn't done it. Because she had too much faith in her own sanity or else because the soul-mate bond wouldn't let her. Either way, she did the only sensible thing. Rather than try and force the lie, she accepted the impossible was real and that she could make no sense of what was happening.

From there, she chose to just ask him.

She didn't resist even though her good sense would have insisted she should, and he could appreciate the confidence necessary to do that. _The difference_, Elijah though, _between giving up and simply choosing not to fight_.

He felt a moment of bright, clear admiration for the girl seated across from him. She was no fool. That he knew already. But she possessed a natural confidence which Elijah recognized for what it truly was. Courage. One she was likely unaware of – it was too much a part of her to notice.

He had meant to be honest with her from the start, but it surprised him to suddenly wonder if he even _**could**_ have lied.

Rachel was watching, her eyes clear as she waited for him but he had been quiet too long. They flickered with uncertainty now and Elijah felt her start to pull away from him. Suspicion shadowing her expression.

He let out a breath and said, "I _**do**_ know what it was we experienced together. Despite what you very clearly believe, I haven't come here to deceive you. This is no trick and it certainly isn't a game."

"Then what's with the distractions?" she pressed. She offered him a small smirk, though Elijah was sure that was only bravado. She was scared but still . . . not of him. He watched the play of light and shadow on her face as clouds passed over the sun.

"As I said," Elijah continued "No deception. I simply didn't know how well what I had to say would be received."

Rachel nodded, accepting that. Her heart leapt, though, the beat thudding just a little harder as she sat back in her chair. Anticipation. Or else trepidation. Elijah's initial observation still stood, she hid her fears behind a mask so masterfully that had he not been so acutely aware of her he never would have seen it at all. But he was aware and she _**was**_ scared.

He took a careful sip of his lukewarm coffee and caught her glance as she scanned the sidewalk across the street. Her eyes passing over faces. Observing them, considering them and then dismissing them all in the space of a few seconds. Satisfied by whatever she saw – or else didn't see – she returned her attention to Elijah.

"I'm listening," she said evenly. "Whatever you've got . . . it's going to be big. You can trust me to listen but that's all I can promise. I don't owe you belief."

"No, you don't," Elijah allowed. He smiled, then. "Although I doubt I'll have to convince you of anything."

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I had never met anyone so hard to read, but there you go.

Elijah was letting more of himself through that careful aloofness. The real him surfacing as he gradually became more comfortable with me. I couldn't fault him for that, because the same was happening on my end. I had begun to relax while we talked and now found myself deciding that I liked the more honest Elijah. His slanted smirks weren't scathing or sarcastic as one might expected. They were easy and comfortable. Humor lightened in his eyes as he took a quick drink from his coffee and set the cup down. Like he was baiting me, daring me to join in whatever joke I clearly wasn't getting.

His mere presence was so intense it eclipsed anything else I might have found in him but, again, I couldn't bring myself to feel threatened. He was here, with me. And I was safe.

"There are . . . too many stories to describe what we are," Elijah began. "What happened to us yesterday is something that will never happen again and it's a thing which I've known about for a long time though I never imagined I would ever experience it for myself."

"Yeah, well, it's not something I even thought I _**could**_ experience," I said. "That was powerful, Elijah. It was . . . ah, cosmic? It sounds crazy to say it out loud – sounds crazy to say it in my head but c'mon. I think back and all I can compare it to is Universes. Galaxies. Stars. What am I saying?"

"What we felt was _**alignment**_," Elijah explained. "And yes, I'd heard it was supposed to be the most forceful, exhilarating sensation imaginable but even I had not imagined it would be quite like that. And knowing what was happening did not make the experience any less frightening for me."

He added the last part so casually that I almost missed it. It scared him, too.

I took a deep breath. "So, what was it?"

Elijah leaned back in his chair, then. Eyes momentarily growing distant as he tried to think of how to explain something I sensed was going to be epic.

"There are too many stories," he said. "So many ways to explain but I think the best way would be to simply call it by what it is."

"And what is that?"

_Dammit, Elijah!_ I wanted to grab him and shake him. _Just say it, already!_

"What we experienced, what we felt together was the forming of a soul-mate bond being recognized and . . . essentially completed."

"Soul-mates?"

"Yes."

I felt the doubt, the natural inclination to deny it but Elijah was just so calm. His dark eyes fixed on me, locking my gaze with his as if waiting for that denial. As if daring me to challenge what he just said. "You're serious."

"I am," he said.

Still waiting for the "nope!" moment. But that didn't happen.

My mind churned, a lifetime of understanding grasping for some answer. Something – anything – other than some mystical connection that sounded like something I would find in one of those trashy romance novels my mom kept as her guilty pleasure. But there was nothing. I conjured the possibility of a drugging, a hallucination or delusion . . . even heatstroke but it was like the moment those more reasonable explanations came some part of me shut them down before the thought could even fully form.

Soul-mates.

I remembered the sensation of the whole universe, every part of me aligning so perfectly with every part of him. The peace, the feeling of fulfillment that'd consumed us both. For one glorious second we'd occupied the exact same place in space and time. Or else that's what it had felt like and it was such a powerful, driving feeling that as wonderful as it was I was immensely grateful I would never have to go through it again.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

She believed him.

He could see it the moment she registered exactly what he'd said. And he knew her mind had gone someplace else because this was the first time he was fully able to read her expressions. To his surprise, the fear she tried to hide vanished entirely. He wasn't certain if it was because she had been so thoroughly distracted or for some other reason but it was gone. Not a hint of it remained.

Rachel did not look away from him. Though her pulse increased she continued to watch him, searching for the truth in his eyes. And Elijah did not deny her that. He watched her, meeting her gaze evenly and he would let her look for however long she needed.

"You're serious," she asked softly, with only the slightest catch in her voice.

"I am."

A moment passed. He was nearly holding his breath, waiting for her. She mattered. He knew what this was, what it meant. And she already mattered to him. This slip of a girl with her bright eyes glinting like glass in the hard sunshine and the quiet challenge in her voice when she spoke. He doubted very much she was even aware of it. _Be honest with me,_ it said, _and I'll be honest with you._

He'd told her the truth. What she wanted to do with it . . .

"I believe you," Rachel said, finally. Elijah felt his own heart skip at her words. She swallowed and nodded, gathering her scattered wits and offered him a small smile. Shaky but sincere. "Tell me. Tell me everything."


	8. Chapter 7 - Understanding---well, sorta

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.**_

**Chapter 7**

**UNDERSTANDING . . . WELL, SORTA**

* * *

"Gray skies are just clouds passing over."

– **Duke Ellington**

* * *

There's a Greek myth that goes something like this: humans used to possess four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Zeus, king of the gods, feared their power. The potential carried inside these complete beings was unacceptable. And so he split them into two separate bodies condemning each half to spend its life searching for the other.

Plato wrote about it.

_**I**_ first heard that story freshman year, near the end of the semester. While everyone else slept through the last class of the day, the story woke me up. Drew me. Fascinated me, really. I remember how I'd stayed to speak with the teacher afterwards. He hadn't been able to tell me what I wanted to know because I wasn't sure what I was asking him, and whatever he did say I eventually forgot anyway. But something about that story stayed with me. Now I knew why.

Naturally I didn't believe in the whole four-legs, four-arms, split-in-half bit. It was only an analogy. But was there a better way to describe soul-mates? One being, split into two.

Elijah and I were not the same.

We were still perfectly ourselves. But knowing what he was to me – what he was supposed to be – made it so that leaving him felt a lot like leaving pieces of myself behind. I missed him.

It was as simple as that. And as complicated.

Hours had passed since our meeting in Jackson Square. We'd separated, going off to do our own thing and a part of me was genuinely surprised that we _**could**_. Weren't soul-mates supposed to be stuck together? Unable to leave, to pull apart without this wash of grief or pain or whatever?

Guess not.

All I knew about soul-mates was whatever I'd picked up from books and Disney movies. Not exactly great sources for fact. Elijah had filled me in on a lot over the course of our supposed lunch (neither of us had actually eaten). Too many things for me to work through all at once so I shelved the information for now. I could go over it again later, when it was quiet and I wasn't so busy. One little tidbit I had no trouble understanding, though. The soul-mate bond was unbreakable . . . and it was not a mistake.

Elijah had been very specific in trying to explain to me exactly how connected we are. The "bond" would have been there from birth but it wasn't until we met face-to-face that the connection was completed. Thus the whirlwind of power and thought and emotion that'd bombarded us. We'd aligned. Came into perfect sync with each other. Interesting. Scary but still fascinating. As for the next bit, the way he'd explained it was ridiculous but I got the point. Soul-mates will find each other – always – no matter what.

I could have been born a humpback whale and he would have found me.

Elijah thinks he's so funny. Okay, yes . . . he'd been trying to make me laugh.

He succeeded. Our conversation got lighter after that and I found it very easy to talk with him. He was intelligent and interesting. Not easily distracted, as some people were when sitting in a restaurant without their phone to keep them entertained. He carried the conversation easily and I never got bored with it.

But as I said. That was hours ago.

I missed him in the dim way people miss a friend who's gone away for a week. It was there but not exactly crippling me with longing to have him back. And though I had no idea where he'd gone after lunch, I knew where I was. And I knew I wasn't supposed to be there . . .

Erin's bedroom.

_**Again.**_

It was getting on in the day by the time I made it to the White Whiskey Inn my aunt owned. Where she and her daughter lived, before Erin was so suddenly taken from us. It was a testament to the business's usual success that after eight months of management grieving for her kidnapped daughter there were still no vacant rooms. The Inn was full up and I knew, from my last visit, that the rooms were still booked back-to-back. That, of course, meant that as we approached dinnertime the Inn was getting crowded with people.

The partiers, those who wanted to experience the famous New Orleans nightlife, were getting up now. Those who'd been out all day were starting to trickle back in.

Essentially, it was a shift-change.

Nobody noticed one girl by herself slip through the foyer, avoiding the open door to the kitchen where my aunt was busy pulling something from the oven, and up the narrow staircase to the second floor of the Inn. Nobody would have thought I didn't belong there. I was counting on it.

Erin's room was untouched from how I left it yesterday. And I'd been careful the day before not to mess things up too badly. Going through a dead girl's belongings felt a lot like taking a necklace off a corpse. We had no proof Erin was actually dead but knowing she could still be alive didn't make ransacking her bedroom any easier. I felt like a vandal. Disrespecting my cousin by touching her things.

My aunt hadn't moved a thing after Erin disappeared. She'd left her room _**exactly**_ the way it was when Erin went off to school that morning, eight months ago. And when I left, I had every intention of putting everything back exactly right. It was the least I could do . . .

First, I went to the little washroom just off the bedroom. Checked behind the toilet for the sneakers I'd left there and discovered that they were gone.

Hmmm. So, someone had been in here.

I only took the shoes off yesterday so that my feet would make less noise on the floor. I hid them behind the toilet (of all places) in case someone came looking for me. I didn't think anyone would figure to look for clues there. Apparently they had or else my shoes had been spotted and of course, that was a curious place to leave sneakers. But who would _**take**_ them?

No matter. That part was just a blip on my radar. There was just so much left to do and I did feel overwhelmed thinking about it.

Going to meet with Elijah today, I had very deliberately not taken Erin's letter with me – just in case. So of course I didn't have it with me now. It was the first time since I got it in the mail that the folded sheet of yellow pad-paper was not burning a hole in one of my pockets and it felt weird not having it with me. But there was nothing I could do about that, unless I wanted to waste time running to my dad's apartment just to get it . . . uh, no.

I started going through Erin's drawers, just wanting to get this over with. Her clean clothes smelled stale after so long without a fresh wash. They felt sort of limp against my fingers, too. Cold, like the fabric knew they hadn't been worn in too long. I found an unopened box of condoms stuffed in the back corner of her underwear drawer. I left it alone. Those were not what I was looking for . . .

_What an awful place to hide condoms, Erin. Really?_

The thought just popped into my head, and it felt good. That is exactly what I would have said to her, if she'd been here. I managed to smile a little and shut the drawer.

I checked her bed, next. Going over to pull the sheets off and wave them around to make sure nothing was caught in there. I lifted up the mattress to check beneath. Nothing. A stain in one corner that looked like soda spilled there years ago. Whatever. I slid the mattress off the bed and hefted up the box spring (quite a bit heavier than the mattress). There was nothing under that, either, though. Discouraged, I put the bed back together and took a minute to neatly rearrange the sheets. I made Erin's bed . . . when I could never quite be bothered to make my own.

I understood that the thing I was looking for was important, and Erin's letter did mention that it was hidden so I needed to look for it, but this was ridiculous. I stood in the centre of her room, just scanning the familiar space trying to put myself in Erin's head. Where would she hide something valuable?

To look at it, at first glance Erin's bedroom seemed messy. Like all her possessions were just tossed inside and left where they'd fallen. But I knew her better than that. Erin had a disorganized sort of organization about her. Everything in here was the way she wanted it. Her room was lived-in. But she was like that in every aspect of her life. She wasn't out to impress anybody. And unlike some of the girls in my school back home, she didn't use it as an excuse to be a bitch. She was just herself.

I felt my gaze drawn back towards her dresser. It was one of those big, heavy wooden things that did not come with an attached mirror. Instead, she'd had to go out and buy her own mirror to put on the wall. It was a pretty oval one about twice the size of a roast pan. She'd had to work waitressing for nearly the entire summer two years ago just to afford the thing but she'd wanted _**that one**_. Stupid mirror we found in a dusty corner of some shop in the city. I'd been a little impressed when, in November that year she'd called me just to say she finally bought it. I was sure she would work at waitressing for a while until she finally lost interest in the thing.

The heavy oval mirror with the ivy patterned bronze contour was hung on the wall and hadn't been moved since the day she brought her prize home. She'd personalized it by hanging glittery beads off of it, and sticking a few photographs on the reflective glass.

Curiously, I approached the mirror. The pictures were mostly of friends but there were two that included _**me**_. One, a recent picture of me and my mom hugging while she took a selfie of the both of us. I'd texted it to Erin. Never knew she printed it out.

The other was older and it was an actual photograph. The kind taken with a camera. It was of me and Erin sitting in the grass. We were seven or so when that was taken. We both wore huge, mischievous grins while sitting barefooted in the bright green grass. A tiny white kitten between us, so fluffed up it looked like a bit of cloud had fallen from the sky.

I remembered that summer. I remembered us playing with the neighboring girl's kitten and that while she ran back into the house my mom had come out and snapped the photo. I remembered that we'd been sharing a bowl of dry cereal, which the kitten knocked over trying to climb into. A big yellow popcorn bowl full of cereal . . . that was supposed to be in the picture. The bowl was in my lap when it was taken but the photograph stuck into the side of the mirror had me sitting, smiling, legs crossed but no bowl.

"What the hell," I muttered.

I reached out but hesitated a moment, fingers hovering over the glossy picture. This was stupid. What did I think was going to happen? There was no bomb. But still.

I sighed and moved for the photo again . . . and stopped.

Something changed.

The air in the room grew heavier. Warmer. Heat crawling over my skin, forcing sweat from my pores. I felt a trickle slide down my back and sprang away from the wall, moving quickly back to place myself in the middle of the room. And then I heard it. That static-buzz that was like the hiss of electricity. Voices. They were still too low for me to make them out, to even recognize the noise as speech, but I recognized it from yesterday. An itchy sort of buzzing. I rubbed my hands over my arms and closed my eyes to focus. Where were they? Where was it coming from?

I couldn't tell. The static hiss continued, growing steadily louder but I couldn't find a direction and _**that**_ was scary as hell. It made it seem like the voices came from everywhere. Like I was surrounded.

No.

No. It was still early enough to have lots of people wandering around inside the building. Tourists. Guests. I needed the crowds. Without giving myself the opportunity to change my own mind, I hurried to Erin's bedroom door and slipped out as quietly as I could. I could see no one in the hall. Just closed doors on either side and stairs at the end leading up to the third floor of the Inn.

Not that way.

I spun and raced down the narrow flight of stairs to the ground floor and nearly collided with the body of a woman with luggage on her way up.

"Ah, sorry," I said.

She shot me a look, the kind that said I was some kid screwing around in a public place and pushed past me. The foyer – the common room – was quickly emptying but there were still people around. I took a deep breath, calming myself and glanced towards the kitchen. Door was still open.

The static voices were getting louder. Actual words becoming distinguishable even though I couldn't quite make them out, yet. That buzz, that eerie static felt like it was pushing up against my back. Like energy. Like an actual physical force. But nobody else in the room seemed able to hear it at all. And I mean, _**at all**_. A few people were talking. Some quietly paging through brochures or magazines. They weren't ignoring the noise, I realized. They couldn't hear it.

Forget this.

I pushed through the foyer, burst out the front door and hit the street running. The hiss of voices followed after me, crackling now like a hive of disturbed bees. My shoes pounded the sidewalk as I pelted through the quickly cooling evening air. Lights were coming on everywhere, disorienting me as where I'd felt the fear before it quickly turned to sheer panic.

The voices were not going away! They were still right there with me and that was impossible.


	9. Chapter 8 - Erin's Friend

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 8**

**ERIN'S FRIEND**

* * *

"You might want to lie down," Magnus advised. "I find that it helps

when the crushing sense of horrible realization sets in."

– **City of Ashes**

_The Mortal Instruments Saga_ by Cassandra Clare

* * *

"Look at me. Rachel, look at me. Open your eyes!"

They weren't already?

Blinking, I looked dizzily around and felt my stomach give a hard, sharp lurch. Nausea swelled hotly in my throat. I thought I would be sick. For just a moment, with my head wheeling and sick chills prickling my scalp I felt my stomach twist and my mouth watered something sour. I was sure I would throw up all over myself.

Cold hands cupped my face, strong fingers pressing into the skin behind my ears. My first wild thought was: _Elijah_.

But no, it wasn't him. Elijah was dark. This person was light. A sweep of soft blonde hair and eyes like a morning sky, though now shaded with concern as he peered intently into my face. Too close! I jerked my whole body backward, tripping over myself to fall on my butt on the sidewalk. I hadn't even noticed that I was already sitting down . . . and the sudden motion as I tried to escape whirled in my head again. I swallowed hard, fighting the hot churn in my stomach.

"Come on, get up. We can't stay here," said the eerily familiar voice.

I didn't take the hand he offered, instead opting to climb unsteadily to my feet without help. Pride or stubbornness or else simple distrust. I recognized the person standing right in front of me. He was the blonde boy from the alley. The one who'd held me back _**just**_ long enough to collide with Elijah. For all intents and purposes, he'd disappeared into thin air that day. And now he was here. Right here.

This was too good to be coincidence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, holding me at arm's length as he scanned my body from head to foot. "Were you hurt?"

"No," I said.

"For Christ's sake, Rachel. Why did you go back to the Inn?" he demanded, sounding almost angry.

My heart was still thundering and I was a little out of breath. Although the buzzing, hissing static in my brain had faded to scarcely background noise and even that was quickly going away . . . I was calming down. And as I grew calmer, that twisting nausea in my gut seemed to get stronger. Heat swelled beneath my skin and again, I had to swallow hard and close my eyes against the sudden urge to upchuck.

"Who the hell are you?" I shot out, startling the blonde but I wasn't backing away. I didn't trust him. Not at all. And now, this? What was he doing here?

"Come on," he said, after a brief pause. "We should get off the street."

He didn't wait to see if I would follow, taking for granted that I would. And I did, falling into step alongside him. The sick feeling inside of me was wearing away though walking while nauseated is always great fun. But I was not losing sight of the blonde and it hadn't escaped my notice that his sudden appearance had made the static-voices in my head go away.

Voices in my head.

Yeah.

"Who are you?" I demanded while we walked. The boy seemed to be deliberately shortening his stride, politely compensating for my uncertain steps so that he wouldn't lose me as we navigated the sidewalk crowded with displays and stalls and other pedestrians.

"Honestly?" he said. "I'm the guy walking you home."

Funny. That wasn't what I meant and he knew it.

"No," I gritted out. "No games. You were waiting for me in that alley yesterday –"

"– true. And now here I am again. Right when you needed me," the boy interrupted, grinning. He tilted his face up to the deep, deep blue twilight sky.

I took a deep breath, finally feeling the last of the sick fading. I cleared my throat, testing to make sure the nausea was gone and felt only the slightest twinge in my stomach. That was good. I was good.

"D'you honestly not think that's creepy?" I asked the boy. "That you show up right when weird things start happening?"

He smiled at that, gracing me with a slanted glance. "Sure it is. You realize you owe me for yesterday, don't you?"

Yesterday. Meeting Elijah in a back alley because a blonde stranger took my arm and wouldn't let me leave like I wanted. Would I have met Elijah eventually, anyway? Soul-mates always found each other but . . . was that it? Would I have miss meeting him, had the blonde not intervened?

No. I had no patience for this. Terrified by what just happened; by those voices that were so real I hadn't even realized they were inside my head. Voices I didn't notice I wasn't actually hearing with my ears . . . yeah. I was scared. Lost. I felt very much alone right now and the blonde was distracting me. _**Again**_.

The boy laughed, suddenly.

"Calm down, Rachel. What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

And I refused to believe he could read minds . . .

"Answer me," I said, pitching my voice so that he knew I was serious. "Who are you? Why are you fixated on me? And how the hell do you know my name?"

He smirked in a way that made it so that I would have expected any sort of response except for what I got. An actual answer: "I'm fixed on you because of a promise I made to a friend. I know your name because she told me. I set it up for you to meet Elijah because you need him more than you know. I meant to tell you to trust him, but that's redundant. It's happening on its own so we can leave that be."

My mind. Was spinning.

Without thinking if I should, I reached out with one hand and grabbed hold of his arm. Fingers tightening around his forearm, I could feel the coolness of his skin even through the long sleeves of his shirt. Sleeves? In this heat? I paused, momentarily distracted. The boy didn't take advantage of that to pull away, though he did offer a small smile. I frowned at him, bewildered. He felt strange. He wasn't exactly cold but his skin was unnaturally cool.

"Rachel," he said, slowly. "I'm only here to help."

"What friend asked you to look out for me?" I asked, over a suddenly dry throat.

The boy stared at me, hesitating. Considering.

I pressed him, "Tell me. Who told you to help me?"

The boy sighed and nodded. Turned fully around to face me, shop lights glinting red and gold in his hair. Sparkling in his eyes and tinting his fair skin a strange yellowish.

"Erin," he said. "I promised Erin I would protect you. And that's exactly what I intend to do."

* * *

Erin.

My cousin, missing for eight months. Abducted right off the street, the ninth out of seventeen who'd gone missing since these kidnappings began. She'd written to me, mailing that damned letter the very day she disappeared. I still didn't understand exactly what she was saying in her letter, but now I wondered how much of what she said was actually in code. I mean, a lot of it was nonsense. Or so it seemed but suddenly, with the blonde boy standing right in front of me my mind turned back to that note.

In the letter, Erin mentioned a lot of stupid random things . . . which is why I was having such a hard time understanding what the hell she was talking about. But what if they weren't random? Could she have warned me that this mysterious boy with the soft wheat-colored hair and smoky blue eyes would be waiting for me?

"Notice how easy it was for you to trust Elijah," the blonde remarked, and I swung my attention back to him. "If there was any doubt he's yours, that is it right there. You don't trust me at all, do you?"

"You toss out Erin's name and think I'm just going to believe you're harmless? As far as I know, you're the one who took her."

"I didn't take her," the boy said. "How about I tell you what I _**do**_ know?"

"Yeah. How about you do that," I said. Still suspicious but I was listening.

"You're not the only one who knew you were being followed," he said. "Erin knew for months before they came for her. I don't know why they're moving for you as quickly as they are and I'll admit that bothers me. There must be something about you that's drawing them . . ."

He let it hang for a second, practically adding a _'hmmmm'_ as he thought.

I nodded. We were walking again, pacing evenly down the street. Past a restaurant that smelled of herbs and spices and fried meat.

"I have a soul-mate," I said, and it didn't escape my notice how easy it was for me to say it out loud. "Rare thing, right? Could that do it?"

The boy shrugged and sighed. "Could it be what made them choose you? Sure. But it's not what's making them swarm."

"Swarm," I echoed. "You couldn't have picked a better word?"

"Perfect word for it," he muttered.

"Not exactly a reassuring visual, though."

"Not really, no," he admitted.

Then, a thought. "How do you know the soul-mate thing isn't what's making them _**'swarm'**_?"

Yes, I emphasized the last word. Mocking him. The blonde didn't seem to care, though he smiled a little. "I know it because you are not the only one they've come for with that condition."

That made me stop. Actually stop dead, right there on the sidewalk. So suddenly that the blonde kept moving for whole seconds before he noticed I wasn't with him anymore. He turned and came back for me.

"I thought soul-mates were rare," I said, hissing out the words. Struggling to pitch my voice so low nobody could possibly overhear us. "Elijah implied soul-mated pairs were, like . . . one in a billion."

The blonde said, "Don't exaggerate. It's actually closer to one in every _**million**_. And yes, the odds of two separate pairs of soul-mates converging in the same city are ridiculous but it's not impossible. Clearly. Fate's idea of joke?"

"I'm not laughing," I ground out.

"No, you're right. Not funny. I'm just saying, you were not the only one."

"Is that part of the pattern?" I asked. "Were all the missing soul-mates?"

"No."

A prickle of foreboding shivered up the back of my neck. "Was Erin?"

The boy didn't respond. He glanced across the street, blue eyes scanning the stalls there. I followed his gaze, seeing nothing but a few fortune teller tables and a display for beaded 'charms' on sale.

"What?"

"Rachel, what were you doing going back to your aunts' Inn?"

Uh, nope. Uh-huh.

"Any particular reason I should stay away?" I countered.

_**For Christ's sake, Rachel. Why did you go back to the Inn?**_ His words bounced back at me. I'd still been reeling with dizziness and struggling not to puke when he grabbed my face and said it, but the memory was clear. He'd sounded mad but not furious. It was the sort of angry associated with relief. Like: "Oh my god, you're alive! What were you thinking?"

The boy rounded on me, then. I hadn't expected it and nearly collided with him. He steadied me, cool hands on the bare skin of my arms. Eyes flashing.

"Just," he started, sighing and pressing his lips tight. Searching for words. Annoyed and relieved and scared all at once. "Look, just promise me you won't go back into Erin's bedroom. Alright? Do not go back in there."

"But why?" I whispered.

Not challenging him. His response was too confused, too genuine, to be anything but truth.

"The voices you heard were only in your head, Rachel," he said, voice tight with urgency. "They were in your head but that doesn't make them fake. Whenever you hear the buzz, no matter where you are when it starts, leave that place. They can't follow you very far. Erin's room is fairly electric from what went on there and if you go inside, they'll sense you. Every time you go into that room, you're telling them exactly where you are."

My throat was dry. Heart beating in my head as I tried to absorb what I was being told. For a girl who lived in the normal world, a girl who never gave much thought to the supernatural beyond the occasional entertaining movie or book . . . this blew my mind. Not so much what I was being told, as that I was giving serious consideration to what I just heard. He sounded truthful, but then all practiced liars do. What did I know about him, other than he had the most impeccable timing imaginable?

He introduced me to Elijah.

That didn't mean he could be trusted. He could have set up one win to lull me into believing he was on my side. And as I said already, throwing Erin's name around meant nothing. I could just as easily say the Prime Minister of France was my BFF . . . doesn't make it true.

I swallowed. "They came for me yesterday. When I was in Erin's room the first time. But they got confused. They didn't know where I was. Not exactly."

"Elijah was in front of the building when they came for you," the boy said. "The soul-mate link hadn't been made, yet, but it was there and you were so near each other that both halves straining. Trying to complete the bond. The _**you**_ they were looking for would have felt distorted. Confused. Sort of like looking at a penny at the bottom of a pool. They knew you were there but couldn't focus clearly enough."

He smirked at that. "Elijah saved your life yesterday and he has no idea . . ."

"Then why didn't it work again?" I asked. "The soul-mate thing is _**done**_. Shouldn't I feel different now or, ah . . ."

"Oh, you do," the blonde said. "And yes, it's thrown them and it should be enough to keep them guessing for a little while at least. But Elijah's left the city and that's weakened his presence inside you. That taken with where you were and you might as well have phoned them to come pick you up."

"Elijah's _**gone**_?" I demanded. "What do you mean, he's left the city? I just had lunch with him!"

The blonde shrugged.

Fine. "Where did he go?"

"Washington."

. . . not what I was expecting. Washington?

Washington.

Seattle. Home. Seattle, Washington.

No. I frowned.

"You're kidding."

The boy smirked. Turned on his heels to face me, walking backwards.

"No."

"Oh, yes,"

"What's he doing there?"

"That, I don't know. Don't worry, he's coming back but until then might I suggest you stay put? Don't cause trouble."

Yeah, because _**I**_ was the troublemaker.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The blonde boy smiled at me. He tilted his head to the redbrick building beside us, drawing my attention to the fact that he'd walked me back to my dad's apartment building. Not home but where I was staying while I was here.

"My name's Sean." I thought that was it, but then he flashed a hard smirk and said, "Sean O'Connell. Google it. Shouldn't be too hard to find me . . ."


	10. Chapter 9 - Rayzael

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hi everyone. Every chapter up until now has been designed to introduce the main players in "A Red Sun Rises" but also to get the whole soul-mate thing out of the way so that it's said and understood, and to give people a brief glimpse into Rachel's 'normal' (sort of) life. Her dad, her affection for her cousin and the fact that there has been a rash of disappearances in New Orleans that nobody – not even the supernatural community itself – knows the cause or purpose of._

_That said, for those of you who have been waiting a long time for the story to actually begin, THIS IS IT! :D Right here, chapter 9, is a vitally important chapter though it might not look that way at first glance. This chapter doesn't "set up" anything. It's the drive for . . . everything that comes next. Erin. Rachel and Elijah. The whole crazy thing that's coming, the whole adventure, is starting right now._

_So sit back and enjoy. Things – and chapter updates – will come very quickly from here._

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 9**

**RAYZAEL**

* * *

"There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for."

– **Albert Camus**

* * *

Elijah returned to New Orleans at a quarter past four in the morning. I know because it woke me out of a sound sleep. Doesn't that sound dramatic? It was a lot less exciting than it seems. There was no great moment. I just opened my eyes, gazed blearily at my clock-radio to check the time and then snuggled down into my pillow. He was back. I couldn't have been surer if he'd been standing right next to me. And that was enough. I accepted that I could sense him and just went back to sleep.

I woke again later in the day. It was almost ten and the bright, hot sun beamed white rays through the glass of my window. The whole room was washed in sunshine and I could just hear the rush of traffic outside. The apartment was quiet, so my dad was already gone. I stayed in bed for a while, hands over my face to blot out the light as I considered the events of these past few days. I came to New Orleans fully prepared to never leave. I came here – willingly – knowing I was being hunted by some unseen presence and as scary as it was, it was okay. I knew what I had to do.

But now I felt as if I knew nothing.

I was confused. So, so lost.

There were still things that needed to be done and I didn't know anymore if I had it in me to do any of it. I was tired. Exhausted. Too many new faces to remember and now, I was having to reevaluate my reality. I hadn't questioned the whole mystical, soul-mate connection thing I had with the dark-eyed Elijah until he went away . . . giving me the time I needed to realize how ridiculous it was. And now this new complication with the equally mysterious Sean O'Connell? The handsome blonde who challenged me to do a quick Google search. I wondered if he even believed I'd look him up because I actually did. All it took was typing his name into the search bar and I nearly crashed my dad's computer.

I woke up at ten but didn't crawl out of bed until eleven. I told myself the foreboding I felt was only a delayed reaction from the drama the night before. Or from the gory articles I'd read about Sean right before going to bed. Unsatisfied by that reasoning, I forced myself to get up and go shower; impulsively locking the washroom door before undressing and turning on the water.

I took my time, staying in the shower much longer than I would have on any other day. With the apartment to myself, there was no reason to be quick. So I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and stood under the spray. Letting the scalding heat beat the skin between my shoulders doing nothing to ease the tension there but at least the stinging distracted me from everything else going on in my head. By the time I washed and was ready to leave, the little mirror over the sink was steamed opaque and condensation beaded on the walls.

_**And**_ I was dizzy from the heat.

I dressed quickly in jeans and a light t-shirt. Today, my last day in this godforsaken city before my scheduled flight home . . . I had zero plans. The safest thing to do would be to just stay inside and do nothing. As I said, I came here expecting to never leave but now that it looked as if I might just make it without being snatched up or murdered I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe I would be okay.

I was so distracted, so lost within myself that I didn't hear the tapping sounds until it happened a third time.

I froze.

They were coming from the front door. I turned out of my room, dropping the book I was holding. Ears straining to catch each sound even as my heart tripped on itself. Yes, I heard it. A light tapping at the front door but it was such an odd sound. Like nails scratching, scraping on the painted wood. Little whimpering, sniffling noises accompanying. I could barely hear it, they were so low.

My heartbeat sped up even more.

Was someone trying to break in? Pick the lock?

My gaze fixed on the deadbolt but nothing moved there. The door rattled a little as more pathetic scrapes and sniffles came through.

I edge towards the door, more dreading what I would find than actually afraid. Apprehension rose within me. Sliding the deadbolt lock, I heard it come undone with a heavy _**k-chunk**_! I took a deep breath and drew the door open as far as the chain would allow. What I found was nothing I'd prepared myself for.

It was a little girl, something red on her outfit.

She was tapping on the door in a way that looked hurt or exhausted or both.

"Can I come in?" the little girl lisped, large brown eyes turned up imploringly. The girl's face was streaked with tears and her whole frame trembled. "Mommy's hurt."

I undid the chain lock and opened the door further, heart in my throat for a different reason now. I glanced around the hallway, searching for the child's mother or some evidence of where the girl had come from but the hall was empty.

"Come in, sweetie," I crooned, taking the girl into my arms. She hugged me eagerly, snuggling into my shirt. Thin arms wrapping over my shoulders. "What happened? Where's your mommy?"

The little girl smiled.

"Mommy's . . . _**dead**_," she said as her voice changed into something low and deep. My arms collapsed at the instant and dramatic increase in weight. I dropped the child, horror and disbelief filling me up as I saw the little girl morph into a young man with thick, snowy white hair right before my eyes.

He grabbed me when I tried to run. Run where? No matter, I spun to race away from him and felt fingers like bands of red-hot steel close over my arms. Pinning me and twisting the bones with their strength.

"Thanks for inviting me in," he snarled, one hand clamping over my mouth just in time to cut off my screams. All at once panic took me. I couldn't breathe! Pain seared from my chest, up the length of my throat and seemed to spread like a liquid wave through my whole body. Lights danced across my vision. Confusion whirled thickly, dragging my mind down as if it were weighted.

"You reek of vampire," the man muttered, his breath stinging the sensitive skin of my ear. He might have snorted but I couldn't stop the sinking sensation. I couldn't keep my head up. "How did you know to come here?"

The hand lifted off my face and I sucked in deep, painful breaths. Some of the burning left my chest and my eyes focused enough to see that I was still in the living room by the front door. I tried to push at the man gripping my arms but I was so weak I couldn't even raise my hands. If the man let go of me I would crumple to the floor . . .

"Answer me."

A fresh swell of pain accompanied his demand. I managed to reply, even though the tightness in my chest made it hard and I didn't really understand what he'd asked me. Lack of oxygen making me confused. My head felt thick.

"Not going anywhere," I said.

The man shook me, the strength in his hands jerking my whole body around when he did. His eyes were turquoise. No, paler. Bluer. _Glacial ice_, I thought dimly. Where did that come from? The exact color of his eyes did not matter but I was hurting, the pain radiating out from where his hands held tightly to my upper arms growing worse. I was only just starting to breathe again, that numbing confusion only just starting to fade. My mind had latched onto a detail, that's all. But those eyes brightened as the man grew impatient and I saw bands of luminous, shining red radiating out from the pupil. Like bolts of lightning.

I stared and saw the glowing, metallic red swell to engulf the iris. Completely blotting out any trace of blue. The jet black of his pupils lit with light. Celestial white, I would have thought.

"Oh, my god," I managed, shrinking away from him.

A smell wafted from him. Thick and acrid, the scent of charred wood. Not the comforting scent of a campfire, but the hot black odor of being trapped inside a building as it burned.

"You knew to come to the Orleans," the monstrous thing holding me said, it's voice conversational. "How did you know to come here?"

Another blast of pain accompanied his words, nearly doubling me over. Fire, liquid magma spread through my body. Boiling and bubbling beneath my skin. I couldn't scream over it, my mouth gaping but not a single sound escaping.

I was released a moment later and the hurt evaporated as if it had never been there at all. My nerves smooth, unaware of the agony they'd just shot to my brain.

I broke. That quickly, he'd broken whatever resistance I might have attempted. I couldn't feel that again, no matter what I had to confess to escape more of it.

"I was told," I gasped, panting from the memory of that excruciating white agony. It made no difference that I couldn't feel it at all now. I remembered the sensation and it created phantom spasms of pain on my insides. "I was told to come here. Didn't know not to . . ."

I added the last part by mistake, just wanting to keep talking. To babble anything.

Hands tightened on my arms. Interest in the man's voice as he demanded, "Didn't know not to?"

Anger flurried quickly, my own natural temper rising at the worst possible moment. I squelched it and said, "I knew I was hunted. It's worse here than anywhere else. I didn't know it would be like this or I would have stayed away."

"I'm rather pleased you didn't," the man said and his luminous red eyes flared with fire. Little licks of flame sliding out of the eye sockets. I gasped. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, making me wince as I expected something awful to happen. For him to lick me, maybe. Or bite me. Instead, he inhaled. I could hear the hiss of air as he breathed me in; savoring whatever it was he smelled.

"You really do stink of vampire," he muttered, breath hot and damp against the skin of my throat. "The stench is sunk into your skin. It wafts around you. How marvelously horrendous."

What? What?

I wanted to question what he meant but was too scared to make a sound. I stood still and stiff in his iron-like grip and waited for what he would do. I was helpless and too scared to move a muscle.

He laughed, then. Throwing his head back in delight and my stomach sank as I realized that some decision had been made. My insides went liquid with horror. Terror. He let me go and, as expected, I crumpled to the floor. Too weak and battered to even lock my knees to keep me upright. He made no effort to catch me as I fell and pain shot up my back when I collided with the thin carpet. I hadn't had the strength to catch _**myself**_.

"I know who you are," the man said, sauntering around my body. I levered myself up onto my elbows but kept my head bowed. Shame burned dully in the background. I was waiting for him to grab me again. Waiting for another unimaginable blast of pain. My skin twitched in anticipation. I knew it was coming. I could sense it as surely as if he'd told me his plans. "I know exactly who you are but you, little vampire slut, are entirely too valuable to simply take away. Do you know what _**I**_ am?"

No.

"Yes," I confessed.

No. No, I didn't!

"Demon."

Those words did not just come out of my mouth . . . I closed my eyes, tears escaping from behind the closed lids. No. No, please. Not possible.

Could my mind actually snap? Could a mind break in an instant like this? Had I gone mad?

The man hissed, smoke wafting from his body in a cloud of sticky darkness. Flames crawled up over his arms, racing down his legs and tangling in his wild white hair. "Call me Rayzael," he intoned, voice crackling with fire.

What I knew of demons came from movies. Just . . . films. Like The Exorcist. A classic. But even if I'd had holy water with me, would splashing it on a demon shouting _'The power of Christ compels you!'_ like in the movies actually do any real damage? Or would I only manage to anger the creature further?

Hot, smoldering hands clamped around the bruised flesh of my upper arms and I was heaved bodily up. The creature pulled thin lips back to expose several rows of serrated teeth. Pain erupted in my chest as suddenly as if I'd been shot through the heart. Through the tearing, I managed to gasp out a desperate: "What do you want from me?"

Again, the pain evaporated as suddenly as it had appeared.

I was at the mercy of a demon. There was no worse position to be in . . .

Rayzael leaned in, even as I edged back. "I'll show you."

He pressed the burning, flaming palm of one hand to my forehead and light burst inside my mind. Tall, white haired Rayzael stood inside a pentagram surrounded by complicated, menacing symbols that seemed to pulse and move over the dark earth into which they were etched. A skinny, wide-eyed man stood on the other side just out of reach of the unholy light wafting up out of the ground.

"Give me power like yours, and you can have anything you want!" the skinny man shouted to be heard over the roar of thunder.

Rayzael nodded and put his hands on the man who fell back, screaming.

More light. Blinding white and red, scalding x-ray flashes and then the images changed. Rayzael was now in front of the man, holding out one hand. The man, shaking his head and backing up. Rayzael advancing then howling in rage as a pentagram flared to fiery life all around him. Flames scorching the very air within that circle of unimaginable heat, and then the bottom fell out and Rayzael disappeared from sight. There was nothing but fire and a slew of bloody, gore-filled horrors for a long while after that. And then, freedom.

More images, dozens of them whipping through me. Faces. Screams and the sour taste of terror on my tongue. I recognized the faces from the news, some I didn't know at all. And one, achingly familiar. Pale blonde, blue-green eyes. Erin.

Rayzael spoke to me then, hardly giving me time to pull out of the whirl of information he'd hammered into my head. "You're ancestor Thomas backed out of a deal with me. He managed to lock me away for quite some time but I'm back and I want my payment."

I shook my head, desperately trying to clear the images still bouncing around. I was still coherent enough through the pain and fear and horror of what I'd seen to understand that I needed to pay attention. Right here, right now. My life hung in the balance and I needed to listen.

"How am I supposed to know anything about this?" I asked him, stalling. Buying myself a few more seconds to come up with a better response.

"Because to have escaped me for so long, he has to have help," Rayzael purred. "Supernatural power that I did not grant him. I can't go into _**their**_ world, and so I thought to draw the whelp into the open by slaughtering all those who are descendant from him. I would extinguish his line. But now I have you and _**you**_ are very special indeed."

He took another deep, deep breath. Sniffing my hair this time. Huge sniffs, like a dog sticking its nose in a hole. "You oh so do reek of them. I could feel your soul straining against the shell of your body, reaching for the half of you that is not here. You've weakened, separating yourselves like this."

Elijah.

I hadn't thought of him until that exact second but the moment his image flickered in my mind, the second I heard myself mentally call out to him something inside of me shifted. A presence, male and dark and immensely powerful responded.

"Find Thomas for me," Rayzael went on. "You can reach so much further than I can, little light that you are. Use your connections. Use _**his**_ power. Bring Thomas to me and I will allow you and the rest of his spawn to live."

His spawn.

My parents' faces flashed across my mind. One of them and I and Erin, descendant from a skinny little man too stupid to know better than to make a deal with a demon. My own life trembled, crumbling under the power of the demon's gasp. Was I dying?

No. No, he wouldn't kill me. I'd just been given a job . . .

I understood Rayzael wouldn't balk at murdering me and all of Thomas's remaining family in his quest to find him. There was no way to misunderstand what was going on, here.

"I'll find him," I swore. Only after the words were out did it even occur to me I'd made my own deal. "I will."

Rayzael traced his finger along the length of my arm, making my skin crawl with sickness. Disgust. I tried not to flinch in revulsion but I couldn't help myself. Every fiber of my being shrinking back from his touch.

"I believe you mean that," Rayzael crooned. "But as extra incentive . . ."

His hands shot down and locked around my wrists. Fingers hooking like claws digging into the soft skin there while a ferocious new pain erupted inside me. Over that, over the wild screeching screams tearing at my throat I heard Rayzael's careless laughter echoing in my head.

"Try not to die, will you?" he said. "I've only just begun."


	11. Chapter 10 - The Glyphs and Ownership

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 10**

**THE GLYPHS AND OWNERSHIP**

* * *

None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.

– **Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

It was still dark when Elijah returned to New Orleans. He had been tempted to go to Rachel immediately upon landing but he ignored the impulse in favor of exploring the strength of their bond. He knew that it would grow; solidifying very quickly into something more than a simple link between them and that while in Seattle, the strength of their connection had faded drastically. He understood it was only the distance and that in a few days a separation like that wouldn't matter anymore but for now, the soul-bond was still new and it would take time to sharpen.

Because of that he'd felt the distance between them acutely, and had missed her in a way that made it seem as if he expected to never see her again. Returned to New Orleans and curious, Elijah had reached for Rachel only with his mind and was surprised by her immediate response. She'd been very still, her emotions quiet. Asleep, he figured. But the moment he touched her thoughts – just to assure himself that she was there – he felt her attention turn to him. A simple acknowledgement of his presence, like a nod. She was tired and it was early. Satisfied, Elijah withdrew and went home.

As brief as their touch had been, he was so sure that she was alright that when a strange restlessness took him later that day he did not immediately recognize the sensation for what it was. The emotion was just so clear that Elijah didn't even realize it was coming to him from over the soul-bond. For a little while, he mistook the feeling as _**his**_ _**own**_.

But it wasn't and the terror – _**her**_ terror – hit him all at once. It was like being run down by a train from the force of her mind linking with his. Rachel crying out for him; her screams echoing in his mind. Her soul calling to the one creature in all of existence who was meant to protect her.

That call, her desperate pleading nearly drove Elijah to his knees . . .

He heard her scream, felt her pain and then, just like that, he felt everything stop and she was silent.

* * *

Elijah wrinkled his nose when he turned onto Rachel's street, his dark eyes scanning the strangely deserted road. A foul stench wafted on the breeze, strong enough to choke him had he been human. He expected to see a car with a smoking engine or a roof being tarred. But there was nothing.

He did, however, spot the figure slumped on the front step of the redbrick apartment building across from a grocers. He approached cautiously, watching the motionless form before recognition struck him. Long amber-brown hair draped over her shoulders in damp tangles. Hair plastered to her face and neck from the sweat beading her skin. She was pale as death, her flesh not white but grayish. Chalky.

Instinct warred with experience, and rather than rush immediately to her side Elijah stayed back a moment. He sent his senses seeking, keen vampire hearing picking out every whisper of sound all around them. He could hear everything, from the heavy human heartbeats thudding in thousands of chests to the hiss of electricity in the wires behind the walls of buildings all along the street.

They were alone. Elijah was sure of it and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something else was there. Something . . .

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, nearly sliding off the concrete step where she rested. Elijah was at her side in an instant, his body only a blur of motion.

Rachel's eyes were closed and she sat with her head resting on the brick wall beside her. Her face tilted slightly up. A stiff breeze gusted noisily down the street and she moved into it, turning her face just a little to capture as much of that cooling wind as she had the strength to. Elijah heard her heart, that strong, confidant pulse and felt a measure of cautious relief.

"Rachel," he called softly, using her name to rouse her. She was unconscious in his arms. Unresponsive. She slumped unresisting against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Elijah ran his fingers through that damp, sweaty hair. Brushing it back from her face and closed his own eyes against the sight of her like this. Whatever fire he'd seen in her before was reduced to cold ash.

She was alive, but without the bright burn of her spirit flashing fire in her eyes she looked dead.

"Rachel," he tried again to wake her.

She swallowed hard, her throat moving. Eyelids fluttered weakly.

Holding her close, pressing her to his chest he could feel her responding. She didn't move beyond the flutter of her shallow breathing but inside his mind he felt her attention stir. Felt her struggling to return. Fighting her way back from whatever darkness she'd fallen into.

Elijah wanted to help, to force his own strength into her fragile body and as her soul-mate he knew that it was actually possible. He understood that he _**could**_ do it, but he didn't know how and it maddened him to recognize he was failing her through simple inexperience. A novelty for him, but their connection was too new. Still unexplored. It could be done but . . . how?

Still, there was another way. He might not know how to utilize the power of their soul-bond but Elijah was not only a man. He was a vampire, an Original, and he had his own power. One with which he'd had a great deal of experience utilizing over his long life.

Fangs flashed as he sliced a shallow cut on the palm of his hand. Just deep enough to bleed only a little before his body sealed the wound. Rachel was not wounded, her body weak but not damaged. It wasn't healing she needed now, only strength. Elijah pressed his palm to her mouth, allowing the dark droplets to stain her bottom lip. As expected, she responded by licking the blood off the way she would have licked at her own teardrops. Without thought or conscious intent, she took his blood into herself and Elijah nearly held his breath as he watched color return to her skin. A faint flush, but far better than that horrible sickly gray.

Her eyes opened.

Rachel hesitated, confused and only partially conscious but her fingers tightened on Elijah's jacket. As concerned as he was for her, Elijah didn't fail to notice how she didn't fight against him. So comfortable with his presence that waking disoriented in his arms was of no consequence. She genuinely held no fear of him.

Then her gaze fixed on his face, hazel eyes locking with his and her pupils widened in panic.

"Where is he? Is he still here?" she cried. _**Now**_ she struggled, wiggling to free herself from Elijah's arms while her sudden flailing had him tightening his grip on her out of pure instinct. He knew what he'd done the moment he locked her to him, but rather than release her (and draw attention to the strength with which he'd held on) he pressed her to him. Intending for his strength and the heat of his body to reassure her.

And it did. Rachel pushed against him, only once, and then calmed herself. Her hear was drumming, pounding loudly in his ears but she wasn't fighting and because of that her panic quickly lessened.

"It's alright," he murmured. "You're safe. No one's here but me."

She didn't question that. She believed him.

Rachel surprised him then by sinking into the shoulder of his black jacket, burying her face in the soft fabric and letting out a harsh sob. Her whole body trembled, shaking as if she would fly apart. Elijah's arms tightened around her, holding her like he that that might actually happen.

"You're alright," Elijah said, stroking her back with a firm hand. Strands of her hair catching in his ring. "You're safe, now."

"No, I'm not," Rachel cried, and lifted both arms to show him her wrists and the deep cuts hacked into her skin.

* * *

_**POV - Rachel**_

Elijah let out a curse, grabbing my hands in his. His fingers were blessedly warm against my icy skin, and though he moved very fast and practically jerked my whole body forward to look at the cuts dug into my wrists he wasn't rough with me. I held still, letting him look.

I expected him to demand to know what I'd done to myself. I was braced for the accusation and to be honest, I wouldn't have blamed him for assuming I did this. The cuts were deep and ugly, the skin around them bruised and starting to swell from the damage. Technically, the cuts weren't on my wrists at all but a little higher than that. This pattern of swirls and loops slashed into the soft flesh of my inner forearm as if with a razor blade. Who else but me could possibly have done this; drawn this complex design into my skin? It would have taken a long time . . . it _**had**_ to be me who did it, right?

Only Elijah said nothing about that. He didn't even seem to be thinking it.

He held my arms in his hands, not gripping at all now that it was clear I didn't intend to pull away. I was still so weak; it was fine to just let my arms rest in his hands.

"These are glyphs," Elijah said. He didn't sound sure, but the look he gave me said otherwise. "You've been branded. What did this?"

"Branded," I muttered, shivering at the word. And the significance.

_**As extra incentive . . .**_ Rayzael had said. I flinched, remembering the exact inflection of his voice. He'd sounded like damnation. How was that even possible? And why would I question the possibility in a tone-of-voice and not the validity of meeting a _**demon**_ in the living room?

_**Try not to die, will you? I've only just begun.**_

I had no idea how long it took him to _'brand'_ me. The level of pain I'd experienced – endured – couldn't be described in words. Not even to myself. There hadn't been any sense of time passing. For a while, nothing else had existed but the pain. No thought or emotion, no memory. No past or future. Even the present had somehow seemed to fade. Eclipsed by . . . I shivered. How was I still sane? How could my mind possibly survive intact after something like that?

Because the demon needed me to be sane. It was my only answer. I couldn't lose my mind. I had a job to do.

"What was that?"

Elijah.

I glanced at him, drawing back from the bloodcurdling memory to find him watching me. His gaze intent and interested.

"What?"

Frustration flickered across his expression. He said, "I only caught part of that."

No. No . . . he hadn't read my mind. Had he?

Demons.

Okay, yes. I was going to believe Elijah just read my mind. He didn't do a very good job of it, though. Or else my thoughts had come too quickly. I swallowed and pulled my arms from his hands. He let me go and only then did I notice I was sitting almost in his lap. I must have been waking up because it took me far too long to notice something I should have realized right away.

Despite the situation, I felt heat rising in my cheeks. I was actually blushing. Embarrassed to be where I was. Trying to be subtle about it, I moved off of him. Elijah rose fluidly and held out his hand. I took it gratefully and let him pull me up. He seemed so tall. Only a few inches taller than me but somehow, much taller than that. His eyes swept the street and I started as a car rushed past us. The first car to come this way since . . . since when? Since I opened my eyes.

"How did you know to find me here?" I asked him.

Elijah's attention swung back around and he nailed me with a look.

"No," he said. "No. Glyphs do not appear by themselves. They are brands, Rachel. Symbols etched into flesh as a designation of Property. They show that you've become owned. Now you will tell me what happened to you."

I was shaking. Not afraid of Elijah's anger, but because it was in his voice. Fear.

"You know what these are," I said, despair welling up inside of me. "I didn't do it to myself, Elijah. I swear. I didn't do it!"


	12. Chapter 11 - Keep 'em Coming

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 11**

**KEEP 'EM COMING**

* * *

"Nature had given him plasticity.

Where another animal would have died or had its spirit broken,

he adjusted himself and lived, and at no expense of the spirit."

– **White Fang**

_by Jack London_

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

"We should get off the street," I said, standing awkwardly now that the worst of the sick-chills had passed. The deep, ugly cuts on my inner forearms ached and pinched, stinging in my skin. A reminder of what I'd set myself up for. Shame burned nearly as hot as those brands as I remembered cowering in front of the creature. Rayzael. I could still feel his hot hands on my arms. The fast, sharp pain slicing through my body as brutal slashes split my skin. Marking me like a prized steer being branded with hot iron.

I shivered and crossed my arms over my stomach.

Elijah saw, of course. Those dark eyes missed nothing but he didn't remark on my pathetic attempt to hide my savaged arms. He said, "You can't go home. Not alone."

Home. I turned my gaze up on the huge redbrick building beside us. My dad's apartment and mine, but it wasn't home. Home was . . . home was three thousand miles away. With my mom. Safe in Seattle where I never had to wonder about demons and accidental deals. I knew – logically I knew – that it was stupid and impossible and crazy to even consider this could be real but that didn't make it any less true. I mean, how do you ignore something happening right in front of your own eyes? It's not like all of this was something somebody told me about. I was experiencing it for myself. Because of that, I had a decision to make. I could be crazy. But if I _**was**_ sane, than this was all real.

A demon. In New Orleans.

Why not?

I'd found a soul-mate here . . . why not a demon?

Power trembled around me. So potent I could feel it slide against my skin like static. A charge. It seeped from Elijah in currents and I realized quite suddenly that I was sensing his emotions. Or . . . no, nothing quite that certain. It was more like I was just sensing _**him**_. His power flowed, dark and deep and it scared me a little. But only a little bit because as close as we were, I felt no threat. No danger to myself. Whatever anger he felt was directed somewhere else.

"I don't want to go home alone," I said, speaking softly.

Elijah heard me, so I must have. He turned, one strong hand lifting to catch my elbow as I stumbled a little. Dizziness making it hard for me to keep my balance when he moved so suddenly.

"I can stay," he offered.

"I . . . no. No, I . . ." Crap. I knew what I wanted. I didn't know how to ask. How does someone just invite themselves over? "What I mean is . . . is there somewhere else? I don't want to go back up. Not yet."

Understanding moved in Elijah's eyes. He hesitated. Not with a refusal, but as if he were making sure he actually understood my request. Not wanting to make assumptions.

"Alright," Elijah said finally. "I'll take you home with me. For a while."

He added the last part and even as shaky as I felt, the slight pause hadn't escaped me. I watched him a moment, trying not to stare as I considered that little hesitation. Was I just unwelcome, putting him out of his way by having to coddle me or did he just not want me there? What did it matter if I knew where he lived? Clearly, he already knew where to find _**me**_.

Sighing, Elijah reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a slim black phone.

"I live quite a way from here," he explained, offering a slight smile. "Too far for you to walk as tired as you are."

Tired. Well now, that was a polite way to put it. I had to lock my knees just to keep from crumbling to the pavement. Yeah, I was tired alright. The cuts on my arms were starting to burn something fierce as my body finally recognized the extent of the damage inflicted. The adrenaline must have been wearing off.

Elijah called us a cab.

While he did that, I turned my gaze up again. At the set of windows on the third floor of the redbrick apartment building. Sunlight glinting off the glass made it hard to see inside but I could just make out the blue of my blinds. Something moved behind the slates. Not a body, just this sense of motion. A sense of something looking back at me, as I strained my eyes to see past the glare of sunshine.

I edged closer to Elijah.

"You're shaking," he said, as if I hadn't been before this. I was trembling from a combination of weakness and exhaustion so deep I could feel it in my bones. My bones were tired. Was that even possible?

Before I realized what he intended, Elijah had already removed his black suit jacket. He went to drape it over my shoulders and, embarrassed, I said, "I'm not cold."

"Still. To hide the glyphs, then."

I flushed and lowered my head, a heavy fall of hair sliding forward to hide part of my face in a distinctly feminine gesture I hadn't meant to do. Fun, how I could actually feel Elijah's amusement bubble without needing to look at him.

I smiled and turned my head up, hoping he could see the gratitude in my eyes. Or sense it straight from my mind. Glyphs my ass. He was worried about me and that . . . that was new. I wasn't used to being taken care of.

* * *

_**POV - Elijah**_

Rachel looked so tiny wearing his jacket. She would periodically tug at the sleeves, lifting them up from over her hands so that she could do little things. Such as open the taxi door when the vehicle arrived. Elijah would have done that for her, but she moved ahead of him as if to show that she were not as weak as he knew her to be. He could sense her exhaustion weighing his mind and it interested him to discover a sort of dull weariness in himself. The soul-bond had aligned them so completely that his body was trying to mimic her pain.

Pleasant.

To his surprise, however, Rachel was not as aloof as he had expected her to be in the backseat with him. While the driver carefully maneuvered through the French Quarter, she sat quietly beside him, leaning slightly into him. Her body radiated heat like fever, though her eyes did not carry the bright sheen of illness. And though she wore his jacket over her own clothes, they had not gone far before she deftly buttoned up the front. Her temperature had risen to where she had begun to feel cold.

"We're nearly there," Elijah said softly, tempted to put his arm around her shoulders and hold her close. Although he wasn't sure how that would be received, so he stayed on his side of the backseat. She trusted him, that could not have been clearer but he and Rachel had not grown familiar enough for him to pull her to him like that.

However, she surprised him again by leaning further against him. Resting her head on his arm and closing her eyes. Her arms crossed over her stomach, the long sleeves of his jacket riding down. Hiding those ugly purple glyphs cut into her skin. A wash of exhaustion swept through Elijah. He held still, allowing the girl to rest while she could.

She had fallen asleep by the time the taxi pulled in front of the compound. Elijah opted to pay the driver before waking Rachel. She looked confusedly around for a moment, but only for a moment. Her bright eyes lit with quick attention.

"You live _**here**_?" Rachel asked, sweeping her gaze over the compound wall. She seemed interested but too tired to question further than that. He caught snippets of thought from her mind, though. _'Hotel'_ appeared more than once. A brief consideration of mortgage and city taxes for premium property in the middle of the bustling French Quarter.

It was enough to make Elijah smirk, when what he really wanted to do was laugh. But he didn't want his little human to realize quite yet that he was learning to read her thoughts. Clever as she was, it would take only seconds for her to realize she was able to do the same to him. There were things he wasn't quite ready for her to learn about him. Not yet.

"I do," Elijah said, answering Rachel's undoubtedly rhetorical question. "You can rest here awhile. Eat. When you're ready I'll take you home."

No. No fear of any kind. Rachel turned on her heels, wobbling slightly from weakness but humor danced in her eyes. And in the cheeky grin she shot him.

"You'll take me home? Good to know, actually. I was wondering if all this was just some sneaky maneuvering to get me here. Lock me up in a glass case . . . have me guarded by seven dwarves . . ."

"I could," Elijah said, slanting a slow smile. "Although I am not entirely certain where I would find the dwarves, I do have connections. Would you like a dwarf?"

Rachel's cheek turned into a smirk. She liked what he'd said. Or else she enjoyed the humor with which he'd responded. She said, "Just one dwarf? I'm not worth seven?"

Elijah. "Yes. One. They're dwarves, not marbles."

She laughed then, her voice hoarsened from screaming but still light. Pleasant.

The moment ended too soon. Rachel's smile faltered as she looked back towards the compound, humor fading beneath uncertainty as she waited for Elijah to lead now that they were at _**his**_ home. She scratched at her glyphs through his jacket. There was no accompanying scent of blood as she disturbed the cuts and that . . . that worried him. He knew some things about demon brands but truthfully, this was nearly as new to him as it was to her. Dark magic and the witches who practiced it sometimes delved into the demonic, the infernal energies that existed just beneath the material plane but vampires could not have cared less. It had nothing to do with them. And Elijah was no exception to that. A simple disinterest coupled with the sense to leave such things alone made it so that he'd never sought to learn more about demons.

_A handicap now,_ he thought distractedly with only the slightest glance at Rachel's hidden wrists. She scratched at the glyphs again and he knew they were bothering her.

"Seriously, though. You live _**here**_?" Rachel was saying as he led her into the compound. She walked beside him, matching her pace to his slightly longer stride. They had just entered the enclosed courtyard and she seemed quietly awed by the space. Three stories of rooms and doorways, all open to the central courtyard with its smattering of tables. Ivy and other plants adding a touch of living green to the sand-colored walls. Arches and black iron railings. Wooden accents to soften the harshness of the stone. And, far above all of it, the deep blue of the sky.

Elijah thought for a moment, wondering how exactly to answer.

"Not alone," he said truthfully. Why lie now, when she would only figure it out for herself? "I stay here with my family. Siblings and one other. The occasional guest, I suppose."

"How many siblings do you have?" Rachel wondered, still seeming taken aback by the size of the compound.

"Two."

That was partially true – though it felt like a bold-faced lie. But stating that he'd had four siblings, that he was the second oldest of the five children his mother bore, was too complicated to get into with her. Rachel trusted him, and he wasn't certain exactly why; if it was the soul-bond that made it possible or some other reason. He would not question it.

Her trust made it easy for him to protect her, as she saw no reason to try and run from him. And now that she'd been tagged by a demon, he would need to keep her close in order to ensure she would survive this . . . ordeal.

Ordeal?

He would have laughed but there was nothing funny with being branded. The glyphs in her arms would not go away. If those had been simple cuts, his blood would have healed them completely but the demon's foulness seeped into Rachel's skin was strong enough to overpower the blood of an Original. That worried him.

How deeply did the demon infuse it's essence into her?

Could it be removed? And what would happen to her – to them – if it couldn't?

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Elijah had a private bathroom.

I should have expected that.

A huge, tastefully masculine bathroom with a glass and chrome shower, sink and antique mirror. Dark tiles. Royal blue towels neatly folded on a shelf and expensive soaps and shampoos and colognes with unrecognizable, foreign labels. Yes, I snooped. Curiosity getting the better of me. What I learned was that Elijah was loaded (I'd suspected that already, so no huge surprise) but that despite the very high cost I felt it was the quality of things he enjoyed more than the price tag.

After browsing a little, I took one of the square washcloths and went to the sink.

My reflection startled me. I looked like I was dying! Or else already dead. My skin bleached to ash. I was gray. My eyes too wide and sunk too deep. White lips pressed into a tight line. My hair hung over my shoulders in a mess of damp strands, slightly crusty as the sweat dried.

I didn't recognize myself. The shape of the face was mine, but the girl looking back was not me.

She was scared. Bruised, somehow. Brittle.

Looking quickly away, I wet the washcloth and went about cleaning myself up as best as I could. I dabbed carefully at the deep lacerations on my inner forearms, afraid of pressing down too hard in case of pain. The glyphs already burned with bright starbursts of stinging heat but they were so mild that the ache felt more like something worse was only just pending. Agony.

I wondered how long until they started to hurt for _**real**_!

Elijah left me alone so that I could wash up. I wasn't sure exactly where he was, now, but I could still sense him. It was so faint, barely a sensation at all but still so acute that I couldn't mistake it for anything else. He was here. He was close. But I was alone.

I was _**sure**_ I was alone.

No. No, I wasn't so sure . . .

I lifted my gaze, holding my breath as I looked into the mirror. Apprehensive to where my throat was frozen and I would choke on my own spit if I saw something standing right behind me. I looked.

Nothing.

There was nothing there. The shower. A wall and a bar with a thick blue towel folded over it.

A whisper of noise, like clothes rustling caused the little hairs on my arms and the back of my neck to prickle. I clung to the sink basin and closed my eyes.

No. No, go away!

I waited, expecting to hear the slow increase in sound. Those awful buzzing voices. That didn't happen. The washroom was quiet. Echoing.

"Elijah?" I whispered, hoping that maybe . . . had he come in?

No response.

A presence.

Someone right behind me.

Braced for what I would see, I let my eyes fall open. Looked into the reflective glass on the antique mirror and met a pair of smoky blue eyes. I spun around, startled, and slammed my hip into the corner of the square sink basin. Pain flared sharply but over that I felt only astonishment. Blue eyes, soft blond hair and a face that could only be called boyishly good-looking. I hadn't given him a single thought since the night I Googled his name.

Last night. It seemed longer.

"Sean," I gasped, torn between relief and suspicion.

Relief that he wasn't Rayzael.

Suspicion because I didn't know what to make of him. Not at all. Again, I heard his voice tossing Erin's name at me as if he thought that made him trustworthy.

He smirked and I scowled.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Following you. What else?"

Well, duh.

I shot a glance at the bathroom door. Was Elijah there? Nope. Actually, he seemed to have moved away. I felt around with my mind and located him downstairs. I wasn't very good at this so I couldn't pinpoint him exactly, be he was far enough to ensure he wouldn't overhear me talking to myself.

"You're a goddamn ghost!" I hissed through my teeth. Afraid of being overheard anyway.

Sean seemed to consider that. "Damned? I wouldn't doubt it. But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here? Following me around because my dead cousin asked you to keep an eye on me?"

"You know, I'm not sure that's actually true," came Sean's swift response.

I said, "What's not true? Is Erin alive?"

He shrugged. "I didn't say that."

"Sean! Is Erin alive?"

It was the primary reason I was even _**in**_ New Orleans!

Sean shrugged. "I said I didn't know for sure if she was dead. That doesn't mean she's alive, Rachel."

Fine. Next question. "Are you a ghost?"

"Possibly. Actually, yes. I am. I think."

"That's real useful," I said and picked Elijah's suit jacket off the little table beside the sink. I pulled it on, mostly just to hide the ugly demon-glyphs cut into my arms. "I'm being haunted by the ghost of a serial killer."

Sean shot me a cautious glance.

I went on, "No, wait. You murdered the congregation all at once, didn't you? So technically you're not a serial killer. You're just some guy who lost it and didn't have the sense to kill yourself without taking a dozen out with you."

That made him wince. I paused, realizing I may have been too harsh in my sarcasm. A flicker of guilt blossomed somewhere in my chest and I said, "Sorry. I didn't mean, ah . . ."

"I've had time to think about that," Sean said softly. "I lost my mind, yes, but I remember all of it. Every second of what I did but at once, it's as if I wasn't truly there while I did those things. Was any of it me? I was hexed, you know."

I swallowed. "Hexed?"

"Yes, hexed. Cursed."

"I know what a hex is," I said, too sharply. "By a demon?"

Sean smiled and shook his head. "Nothing quite so exotic."

"How is this happening?" I moaned, turning my back on the ghost. "You realize just a few weeks ago none of this existed in my world? Ghosts and demons, soul-mates and disappearing cousins who send dead guardians out to look after me."

"True. Considering all that, you think you're taking all of this remarkably well?" Sean said. "Too well. I wonder why."

"I might be in some sort of state of shock," I offered. "Shock wears off and I'm probably going to have a stroke."

Silence. I glanced at Sean and was startled to read his expression. He looked like he thought that was a real possibility. My heart sank.

And then, "Wait!"

I spun completely around to face the ghost again. He blinked, surprised by my sudden turn.

"No, wait. I touched you!"

"You what?" Sean demanded.

"I mean, you touched me," I said. "You grabbed my arms. You held me back, actually restraining me in the alley. We _**touched**_. How the hell did I touch a ghost?"

Sean laughed at that. I didn't get the joke but then he said, "No, we didn't. You only felt what you thought you should. It was an illusion, Rachel. You didn't know I couldn't grab you, so when I did you expected to be restrained therefore you were."

"No." He was lying. He had to be, I could still remember the cool strength of his fingers. "You held me back. Sean, I was running away that day. You couldn't have restrained me, no matter how much I believed it unless you were . . . solid. You _**were**_ holding me."

He was full-on grinning now. "The power of the mind, Rachel. It wasn't me. If you really wanted to go, you could have broken free and you _**did**_. At the last second, just as Elijah was arriving you were distracted and my hand passed straight through your arm. I couldn't hold you."

I did remember that moment. I'd thought the blonde stranger had released me but . . . I didn't actually see him let go.

"Elijah never saw you," I noted. "So, you invisible?"

Happy I wasn't going to argue the point, Sean shrugged and said, "Not always."

Well, duh. I was looking right at him.

"Am I psychic?"

Sean laughed. "No."

"Are you around when I can't see you?" I asked.

Sean shook his head. "Sometimes, but you don't have to worry about that. Whenever I fade, I become more of a shadow than a ghost. It feels a lot as if I fall asleep, and whatever is happening around me is only a dream."

"So, you're still aware."

"Sort of, yeah. I can wake up if I have to."

"Did you know I was being attacked by a demon?"

Sean didn't have anything to say, there. I stared at me, keeping his gaze steady and level with mine.

"Do you know that he branded me?"

He nodded.

"What do the brands do?" I demanded. "Elijah says they're tags but I don't think he really knows."

"Neither do I," Sean admitted. He sighed. "Look, as bad as things are they could be much, much worse. Erin chose to go it alone, dismissing those who could have protected her even though she _**knew**_ she was about to disappear. I won't let you make the same decision –"

"Decision," I repeated, cutting him off. "Not mistake? You won't let me make the same _**decision**_?"

"Christ, you're quick," he muttered. "Elijah'll never be bored with you, huh?"

I said nothing. Sean sighed and shrugged.

"You still have the letter she sent?" Sean asked. "Read it again. I don't know what she put in that note, only that she chose to put her faith in you rather than in those who were already there with her. Do I think she was wrong? I haven't made up my mind on that yet. But she trusted me, too, to a degree. And I think she might have known that like her, you also possessed a soul-mate. A powerful one. How she knows is really beyond me . . ."

Like her. I had a soul-mate, like her.

Chills swept up my spine. I looked at Sean and wondered . . . could it be? Was _**he**_ hers?

"Look," Sean sighed. "You're not as isolated as you might think, alright? You can trust Elijah. Tell him the truth. He'll help you."

"And you?" I asked.

Sean nodded, and strands of sunny blonde hair fell charmingly into his eyes. "I'm only a guide."

"Are you kidding?"

Apparently not. Sean swiped his hair out of his eyes with one swift hand and said, "I'm not really here, Rachel. I can guide you, tell you what to do but I can't actually _**make**_ you do anything. The stunt in the alley was only that. A fluke. It won't happen again. But you can trust that whatever I say, I won't ever lead you wrong. Right now, nothing in this world matters more to me than keeping you alive. I owe Erin that . . . if nothing else."

Erin.

I could have cried but there were no tears. Grief swelled thickly at her memory, and now at the idea Sean had planted that Erin might still be alive. Why? Because a ghost wasn't entirely certain she was dead, that's why.

"Well, you're here now. I suppose there's an actual reason for this visit?" I said, speaking through the pain in my throat. Why couldn't I cry? Was I beyond that? Or was I just too tired to find the tears?

"There is," Sean admitted. He'd been leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles as if he were waiting on a bus. He could not have looked more nonchalant had he been trying but now he stood up straight. Sighed tiredly and, to my surprise, I saw his body fade a little. Just a quick flicker where for just a second he became transparent.

He raked his fingers through his hair and said, "Look, I need you to spend the night with Elijah."

I froze. Then laughed out loud. "What?!"

Sean looked blank. He blinked and laughed too. "No, not like that. I mean, stay here tonight. Things are gonna get rough. You need to make yourself hard to get at, and not much would dare come looking for you _**here**_."

"You're nuts," I muttered. "No, wait. _**I'm**_ nuts. You're just a figment of my imagination."

"Feel free to believe that," Sean said. "So long as you do as I say. Stay here. One night, Rachel, is not going to kill you."

"Disobeying your decree, on the other hand . . ." I let it hang, mocking him.

"Not a decree. Not an order, either. A suggestion. But d'you really want to find out what'll happen if you decide to disregard my advice?"

A hell.

I looked down at the dark patterned floor tiles and took a deep breath of air.

"I'll stay," I muttered. "But jeez. That's assuming Elijah lets me spend the night. Talk about inviting myself over!"

I paused, waiting to see if Sean would argue that very valid point but he said nothing.

Startled, I looked up. Glanced quickly around but the bathroom was empty.

Sean was gone.


	13. Chapter 12 - Hayley, Elijah and Rachel

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **_Hey, all. You guys asked for it . . . and here it is. Elijah's perspective on what's going on. 90% of this chapter is Elijah with only a quick intro at the beginning to see what Rachel's doing. I really hope nobody finds it dull, because this chapter will focus on Elijah's affection for Hayley straining as his attention is pulled in another direction. He still cares for Hayley but now there's Rachel and . . . that changes the game, doesn't it? For Hayley, I mean. How do you compete with a soul-mate? LOL_

**(I re-uploaded this chapter. Everything is the same, so nobody needs to reread it. I just fixed a few spelling errors I missed before posting.)**

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 12**

**HAYLEY, ELIJAH AND RACHEL**

* * *

"When they're together, it's like putting a hurricane and a tornado in the same room –

you can feel the tension. I didn't believe in the cliché of soul-mates until I saw them together."

– **Dirty Red**

_Tarryn Fisher,_ author

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Some days seemed to come together like a stained glass window. Shards. Fragments. Splinters of abrupt colors and moods that, when combined, form a whole picture. Today was a lot like that. Each event separate and stark, but still strangely complete.

Dark dawn. Just before sunrise was the first pane of imaginary glass. Smokey purple and quiet. A peaceful color for when I'd vaguely sensed Elijah through our mysterious psychic bond and knew – just knew – that he was back. Nearby and in the city.

Bright yellow for when I woke to a bedroom bathed in sunlight. Safe and content, though overwhelmed with all the things I was learning and that had happened to me in too short a period of time. But I was okay. I was fine.

Hot, angry red. That would be Rayzael. The demon who'd tricked me into inviting him into the apartment. Terrorized me and then, realizing I could be used to find some long-lost ancestor had proceeded to cut glyphs into my arms with slow, excruciating efficiency.

From there, I suppose the glass would be green. Confusion coupled with a thick swath of sickness. I didn't remember crawling up off the floor of my dad's living room. I vaguely recalled the emotion, the sensation of desperate panic as my body moved on autopilot. I needed to leave the apartment where the attack occurred and . . . I made it all the way to the street before collapsing again. I didn't remember that part _**at all**_. But that's where Elijah found me. Outside and right in front of the apartment building.

Cool blue. Yes, that was right. Not an awful color for waking up to find myself in Elijah's arms. Blue. A sign – or a reminder – that no matter what I would never be completely alone again. Our soul-bond guaranteed that. If there was ever somewhere I belonged . . . it was with him. I could feel it even now, with every part of me. It was the same feeling that made it so that I believed him when he told me we were soul-mates instead of immediately rejecting the idea as impossible.

That made me wonder what Elijah thought of all this.

It couldn't be pleasant for him to find himself going out of his way for me. He'd taken care of me on the street, which was nice. But a stranger would have done the same, if they'd come across me unconscious on the sidewalk. Elijah took me home with him because I asked him to. And he would let me stay the night because again, I asked. How far would his hospitality – and his patience – extend? I didn't want him to see me as some sorry little female peeking out from behind him. That wasn't me and I had never, not once, thought of myself as particularly weak. I figured I was pretty average, strength-wise. Emotionally stable.

Of course, I'd never considered that I might one day find myself facing a real-life demon, either.

But that was done. I couldn't go back to before – to where I didn't know any of this was real – so I had to grow the spine I once _**thought**_ I had and deal with it.

And after the brief encounter with a ghost in Elijah's big bathroom, I'd reached a decision. Finally.

I would believe Sean. And I would trust in Elijah.

So I waited for him to come back from downstairs, sitting on the edge of his bed. Uncomfortable with being alone in Elijah's bedroom but I didn't have the nerve to actually go out looking for him. Instinct, maybe, or else a flicker of Elijah's own desire seeping over our bond that I not go wandering around. I still had his jacket and, while waiting I'd draped it over the back of a chair. Careful to keep from wrinkling the fine material. His suit jacket was as black as jet and it felt amazing in my hands. Soft and smooth as cream. _**Expensive**_.

And he'd just forked it over because he thought maybe I was cold . . .

Elijah seemed to be taking a long time with whatever he was doing downstairs. He'd gone away as soon as I he showed me the washroom so I could wash up a bit, and I hadn't given his absence much thought. But he hadn't come back yet and I was starting to wonder where he was . . .

* * *

_**POV - Elijah**_

Elijah found Hayley waiting for him in the kitchens. He'd known she was there, of course. The steady pulse of her heart alerting him to her presence and he had – briefly – considered going back upstairs. But that was childish and cowardly. He felt that Hayley deserved a proper explanation for his admittedly shady behavior. He'd been avoiding her too much already. For her part, Hayley had had the sensitivity to accept his frequent absences over the past few days. However, he could sense she was growing impatient with curiosity and he would need to speak with her eventually.

Now was as good a time as any.

He saw her before she was even aware that he'd entered the kitchen, allowing Elijah a moment to appreciate the attraction he felt for the lovely young werewolf. An attraction which had dulled drastically since his soul-bond was forged with another. It was the strangest sensation, to be able to look at this woman – someone he still had feelings for – and find himself drawn in another direction. Rachel.

The soul-bond hadn't erased what was there before . . . it only seemed to redirect his attention.

Hayley was dressed for the summer weather, which had grown balmy as the day progressed. Blue jeans and a bright yellow, sleeveless blouse. Her heavy fall of oak-brown hair tied in a messy tail, lifting it off her neck to help keep cool. She was barefoot, seated on a tall stool while she peeled the label off a bottle of water. Waiting for him.

Rachel had been barefoot the day he'd met her, too.

Suddenly aware someone else was there, Hayley turned her head. Her hair swinging with the motion. Lovely green-brown eyes cautious but happy enough to see him. Elijah returned her hesitant smile.

"You ready to tell me what's going on?" she asked without even a hint of coyness. She was telling him she thought this talk was long overdue.

Elijah felt a small shiver of surprise at the question. Not because he didn't think she was intelligent enough to figure things out for herself but because for just a moment, she'd sounded as sharp as Rachel. The two were very different, but not so much as he would have liked. They were too similar.

Was he ready? No. He would have preferred to keep Rachel a secret from those closest to him. Selfishly, so that she remained only his . . . but that, too, was ridiculous. His family would learn of her soon enough and when they did, he would need an ally. Somebody he could trust with her safety while the rest of his family acclimated to Rachel's inevitable presence in their lives. Through him, she would be bound to his family as well.

And for all her werewolf temper, Hayley was the least volatile. The most level-headed.

Hayley pushed a stool out for Elijah, sliding it out from under the kitchen island with her bare toes. She waited until he'd taken the offered seat before prodding him.

"Who's the girl upstairs?" Elijah allowed a small smile. Hayley uncapped the top of her water and took a small sip. With the bottle still at her lips, she lifted a brow and added, "If she's a secret, Elijah, you could at least have made an effort to sneak her in. You walked her in straight through the front door."

"She's not a secret," Elijah responded. "If she _**were**_ a secret, I would never have brought her here."

"Guess not," Hayley allowed. She lifted her gaze to look at him through her lashes. Considering him, he thought, rather than seductive. He could all but see the wheels spinning. "What's wrong with her? She looked like she'd been run over by a truck."

He couldn't bring himself to disagree with that assessment. Rachel had the look of someone who would be knocked down by a stiff breeze. Naturally confident and intelligent, with a strength that fairly radiated out of her through her skin reduced to . . . to something less than what she was. He only knew some of what happened to her. He was very interested in learning the rest.

But for now, he had to appease Hayley and deflect whatever negativity arose away from his very _**mortal**_ soul-mate.

"She was attacked this morning," Elijah said truthfully. Hayley's brows shot up with surprise . . . and interest. "I've brought her here to rest."

"What attacked her?" Hayley asked.

Elijah went to speak, to tell Hayley of the demon but immediately changed his mind. Rachel was keeping something from him. There was something about her encounter with the creature and he hadn't pushed her to tell him, but until he knew exactly what was going on . . . it felt prudent to keep the demon a secret. Of course, Hayley caught his hesitation. Elijah hadn't been subtle in his abrupt refusal to respond to what should have been a simple – and reasonable – question and her expression turned with suspicion. Not a look Elijah was accustomed to seeing directed his way. Not from Hayley, at least.

"You know, I was going to follow with asking more about her," Hayley said, her voice pitched conversationally. "Who is she and all that. But I'm thinking the better question is: who is she to _**you**_?"

"Who is she to me?" Elijah mused. His gaze sharpened.

Hayley kept her own gaze clear. Willing to listen to whatever he said, and observant enough to read what he wasn't saying. Elijah tapped a finger on the polished granite tabletop of the kitchen island. Just as quickly as he'd decided _**not**_ to tell Hayley about the demon, he made up his mind to confess the truth about Rachel. The whole truth.

"What do you know of soul-mates?" he asked directly.

Hayley blinked, taken aback by what she must have thought as a change of topic. Thrown by the unexpected the question. She said, "Soul-mates? Jeez, I don't know. Fairytales."

Elijah waited, saying nothing and slowly understanding dawned on her. A slew of emotion passed over Hayley's express, moving from bewilderment to sharp skeptasism and then, as it became clearer that Elijah wasn't laughing at her Hayley's eyes darkened with what he would have thought was resignation. But no, she was neither resigned nor remotely satisfied with his not-much-of-an-explanation. Elijah hadn't even confirmed it, he'd only asked her what she knew of . . . soul-mates?

"It's true," he said, before she could finalize her disbelief. In the moment where she was still confused enough so that he could explain and know she was listening. "The legend of the soul-mate is just that. A story. But that girl upstairs is real and she . . . I don't know what to say. How do I put this into words?"

Hayley was watching him, now. He had her complete attention and it unsettled him. She wasn't comfortable. She wasn't happy but she was still listening. Every word Elijah said was being absorbed and stored. He felt that one misstep would break this fragile moment. He tried to explain, to make her understand the same way he'd explained it to Rachel days ago . . . difference being that where Rachel had their bond to reinforce the truth of his words, Hayley did not.

"The stories say that everybody has a soul-mate," Elijah said, not daring to look away from the woman across from him. "That every living being in the world is part of a soul-mated pair, but that many never find their other half. That isn't true. Contrary to popular belief, soul-mates are rare. For every million people there might only be one . . . however, no matter what happens soul-mates will always – _**always**_ – find each other. There is no way to prevent it."

"Fate?" Hayley sounded a little skeptical there, but Elijah saw it as a good sign that she was only questioning _**that**_ part.

"Fate. Destiny. Written in the stars . . ." he smirked. "There are a million ways to describe it. But yes. Essentially, soul-mates are destined to find each other."

Hayley sighed and leaned slightly back on her stool. "Not exactly fair to your girl though, is it?"

Elijah paused, uncertain of what she meant by that.

"What I mean is, you were born a thousand or so years ago and she . . . wasn't. She's human, right?"

"She is," Elijah admitted.

"Then I guess fate doesn't keep score," Hayley added. "Because if you weren't a vampire, the two of you never would have met. Ever."

Elijah had thought of that. And Hayley was right. Everything he knew about the soul-bond said that it would have been there from birth, possibly even from the moment of conception, and all that was needed to solidify that bond was for both halves to meet. However, _**his**_ birth occurred ten centuries prior to _**hers**_. It confused him. It worried him. He didn't understand why such a thing would occur. If his mother, Esther, had not cast the spell that turned her children into the first vampires – into immortals – he and Rachel would never have met for the simple reason that he would have died a thousand years past.

"Do you love her?" Hayley asked suddenly, startling Elijah out of his distraction.

"Not yet," he admitted.

Hayley, again, didn't seem to know what to make of that. She shot him a cautious glance while Elijah struggled to think of what he meant.

"I'm drawn to her," he said, wincing internally at saying that to Hayley's face. His beautiful, precious werewolf girl. "In the few days since our bond was completed, I've already begun to feel for her. But it's too soon for love, I think. What I feel now is . . ." how to explain? ". . . protectiveness. A fierce desire to protect her and that part I don't think has very much to do with the soul-bond at all. She's easy to be with. I find I enjoy her company more than I first expected I might."

He'd said too much.

Hayley didn't look happy. She didn't appear angry, for which he was grateful, but she was clearly troubled. Elijah took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his gaze locking with Hayley's. A soft breeze blew in through the open window at her back, stirring the fine strands of hair hanging loose over her neck. Sunshine shone in her eyes, heightening the various colors into a morass of woodland shades. At once brown and green, shot through with bolts of brilliant gold and a darker ring of indigo blue, nearly invisible around the contours of her irises. Just like Hayley herself, those eyes were simultaneously complex and sincere. They were so familiar to him. He could read Hayley's moods in that color as easily as if she were _**telling**_ him what she felt. What she was thinking.

But it was not the same. It was nothing like the quick, soft brush of Rachel's mind reaching for his. The flicker of emotion he sometimes felt from her. And their bond would only grow stronger with time and familiarity. Just imagining what it would be like in a year excited him. He found himself looking forward to that closeness.

He could never love Hayley. Whatever they'd had was no longer possible because Elijah belonged – happily belonged – to someone else. However, Hayley was still his. She was still his family. And because of that, he would love her always. Just not in the way she might want.

Elijah said, "Hayley?"

She sighed tiredly and uncapped her water again. Took a small sip and put the bottle down. "I don't have a chance, do I?"

For what? To be with him?

Elijah didn't know what to say that wouldn't make him sound like an ass. So he said nothing. Finally, Hayley nodded. "You worried I'm going to do something to your human?"

"Truthfully, no."

That startled her. Had she really believed he thought so little of her? He'd known from the moment he decided to confess all this to Hayley that she could be trusted.

"She's the reason you just up and left for Seattle, isn't she? What were you doing up there, anyway? Don't tell me you went to go get her!"

Elijah couldn't quite contain his smirk. "No. She was already here. Ah. How do explain _**this**_ part?"

"You just tossed out a fairytale I'm supposed to believe," Hayley pointed out. "What could possibly be harder to admit than you found your fated soul-mate a thousand years late?"

"Rachel," Elijah said, deliberately using her name so that Hayley would know it. "Is only visiting the city and she is . . . ah, scheduled to return home. Tomorrow, I believe."

"Home," Hayley echoed. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't . . ."

He certainly had. He'd moved quickly after his lunch with Rachel at Café du Monde. She'd mentioned she was leaving, had thought nothing of it but Elijah had realized immediately what was happening. And he'd moved fast. A quick flight to Seattle, just short of an hour to find Rachel's mother – to her credit, the woman hadn't exactly been in hiding – and a quick compelled command delivered from her doorstep. He hadn't even needed to be invited into the woman's home.

"What did you do?" Hayley demanded.

Elijah shrugged one shoulder. Not in the least sorry for his manipulation. No one had been harmed. "I compelled Rachel's mother to agree to allow her daughter to stay in New Orleans with her father, instead of returning home as originally intended."

Hayley almost dropped her water. She stared at Elijah, disbelief warring with amusement. Amusement won. Hayley laughed, delighted. "Your girlfriend is going to be _**pissed**_ when she finds out. You realize she's going to suspect you had something to do with this, right?"

"She is not my girlfriend," Elijah said. Well, not yet . . . "And I am quite aware she'll suspect me. But what is she going to think I did?"

"She has no clue, does she?" Hayley stated, shaking her head. "She doesn't know what you are."

Joke over. Elijah sighed and glanced away.

"Cruel," Hayley remarked.

"Necessary," Elijah countered. With everything Rachel was being asked to accept as real, her whole world had been upended. What she needed now, more than anything, was time to come to terms with her new reality. She didn't need to know he was a vampire just yet. She was safe with him. Beyond that, telling her would only upset her.

His brave little human was soul-mated to a vampire. More, she was bound to the most powerful of them. Elijah. An Original.


	14. Chapter 13 - Safe and Sound

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 13**

**SAFE AND SOUND**

* * *

"Yes, because a vampire slumber party is the pinnacle of safety conscious behavior."

– **Eclipse**

_Stephanie Meyer_, author

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

The demonic glyphs slashed deep into my arms were gone.

I slid my fingers over the smooth skin of my inner forearms, expecting to feel something like wires or scar tissue just beneath the surface of pale, unblemished flesh but there was nothing there. Was I healed? No. No, the cuts were gone but the glyphs were still there. I could feel them burning. A slow, steady pulse of heat flaring with the beats of my heart. The heat spiked hot enough to where I would brace myself for real pain then fade down to only a mild warmth. Not a pleasant sensation. It scared me. I didn't enjoy pain any more than the next person, and knowing I was standing on the precipice . . . all I could do was wait.

_**Tap. Tap. Tap.**_

My head came up. I lowered my arms and looked quickly around. What was that? Moonlight danced in the crystal glass of a water pitcher, shining ethereal in the darkness. It was all I could see clearly in the night dark room. But I knew it sat on a deep mahogany table, surrounded with our dinner dishes. Plates and the crumbs that were all that remained of the cold sandwiches Elijah had offered before exhaustion finally drove me to sleep. The rush of adrenaline wore off and I'd crashed _**hard**_.

"You," Elijah had drawled, amusement sparkling over our bond as I blinked sleepily at him "may take the bed. I'll be in the other room, if you need anything."

If I needed anything. Or if I screamed for help . . .

I'd glanced at the wood and glass doors separating Elijah's sitting room from his bedroom. A knot of tension coiling in my stomach loosening just a little. "You'll be here, all night?"

"All night," Elijah promised with a soft, slanted smile.

It did make me feel safer, knowing he would be near. Sitting across the table from him under the quiet weight of those dark eyes I felt _**very**_ safe. I felt protected, even though I didn't think there was very much Elijah could do if Rayzael came for me again. I didn't want him hurt – or killed – trying to defend me.

_**Tap. Tap. Tap.**_

There it was again! That noise, like fingers rapping on glass.

My gaze flew to the window. The curtains billowed, ballooning out as if from a wind blowing into the room only the window was shut. There was no wind. Creeps crawled numbingly up my back, raising goose pimples on my arms. I scanned the room again, uncomfortable by the unfamiliar bulk of Elijah's furniture; flat and black in the dark. Nothing looked quite real. The twin doors leading into the sitting room were closed, giving me privacy as I slept but through the curtained glass I could see no lamplight shining. Had Elijah gone to sleep? Maybe stretched out on the sofa in there?

The tapping came again, only now the tempo was different.

_**Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . .**_

It sounded like . . . like water dripping from the faucet. Only not exactly. The noise was hollow. It reminded me of felt-tipped stick pounding on a wooden drum. I swallowed hard, trying to place the source of that incessant tapping. My throat was dry.

Very slowly, I walked across the stretch of open floor between Elijah's bed and the doors to his sitting room. The blinds pulled low over the glass moved slightly, as if something were on the other side. I faltered. Fear coursed through me, momentarily irrational until I realized that the dim hurt from my glyphs had grown acute. Heat prickled like some awful itch from where the cuts used to be. I held up my arms to see, but my skin was still pale. Undamaged. No evidence at all that those symbols had ever been there.

The blinds moved again, drawing my attention back to where I was going. And I saw that there _**was**_ a light in the other room. I was sure it hadn't been there a second ago. Through the blinds, I could see a red-white shine so hot it smoldered. Recognition flared. And horror.

"No," I gasped, flinging myself away from the door just as the glass exploded. Glistening shards flying outwards in a deadly horizontal rain. I threw up my arms to shield my face, the glass lacerating the skin there but I couldn't feel the hurt as my glyphs flared even hotter.

Decorative window destroyed, the doors swung slowly open. Creaking on broken hinges.

I gasped, panting. Heart hammering. Waiting, too scared even to move.

The sitting room was dark. Pitch black but not exactly empty. From that darkness I saw a pair of glowing eyes staring back at me. Red. White. Smoldering, searing heat. As I watched, a figure materialized. Long, lean body clad in jeans and a black duster. Wild white hair. And a grin that chilled me straight through to the bone.

"How far did you think you'd get?" Rayzael snarled, baring rows of sharp triangular teeth. Shark teeth. "Did you think you could hide from me? Did you think you could escape? We had a deal."

There was fire in his voice. The crackling roar of a depthless inferno following each word. Like the first time I saw him, my whole being flinched away. Revulsion coursing through the very fiber of what I was. It made me sick – actually physically ill – just to be near him.

_**Demon**_.

I held up both hands, braced in the universal gesture for "stay away!"

Rayzael snarled. Hands burning hot as molten steel closed over my wrists. I screamed, the sound tearing and then catching in my throat from the force of it. I had forgotten the extent of the pain I would feel when he touched me. It was bad. Sharper than the last time. Rayzael yanked me forward, bringing me closer to his reeking body – a smell like charcoal and lighter fluid and burning rock.

"Let go!" I pleaded through the hurt. Tears leaked from my eyes. Unavoidable. "Elijah. Elijah . . . help me!"

"He's gone, Little Light," Rayzael hissed. "Or rather, he was never there. Look, see?"

Rayzael held me to his chest and spun us both around. I twisted desperately to get out of his grasp. He grabbed my head with both hands and jerked my skull so sharply I thought I would hear that final sharp crack of my head twisting clean off. But killing me wasn't the point. Showing me what lurked within Elijah's unnaturally dark sitting room was what Rayzael intended. I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to see anything but the pain radiating into my body through his fingers intensified until I _**had**_ to open my eyes just to make it stop.

"See. See?" Rayzael hissed. "You're surrounded by monsters, my sweet Little Light. What will you do now? Who can help you?"

I couldn't see. My eyes moved back and forth, searching. But all I saw was black. The darkness was too thick to let anything through. And then, from nowhere, a heavy weight was dropped at my feet. Without ever having seen a body before, I immediately registered what it was. There was no need for a moment of confusion or even disbelief. I saw the body of a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and eyes milky white. Dead eyes. Blood congealed on her porcelain skin, stark and dark. Her throat . . . oh, god. All that remained of her throat was a bloody mess of torn flesh hanging in ragged strips.

This was the source of that tapping sound.

_**Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap . . .**_

Cold blood spattering on hardwood floor.

"No, oh no!" I moaned. My feet scrabbled uselessly on the floor as I struggled to break away from Rayzael's merciless grasp. I wanted to turn my head. I wanted to close my eyes and blot out the image of the girl lying in a heap right in front of me. Her blood had splashed when she dropped to splatter the bottoms of my jeans. And then I saw _**him**_. Rising out of the darkness like Death himself, Elijah prowled forward. His eyes were glowing the same hot white-red as Rayzael's. Fangs, long and lethally sharp extended from him upper jaw curling down like those of a serpent. His nostrils flared, breathing in a new scent as his gaze landed on me. Eyes slid over my body, appraising, before fixing on the lacerations criss-crossing my skin. Wounds caused by the exploding glass.

Cuts on my arms and hands deep enough so that they bled freely.

Elijah curled his lips back, grinning or snarling. Either way, his fangs seemed to grow even longer. Sharper.

Rayzael shoved me forward, laughing as I cried out "No, don't!"

"You wanted him, Little Light. There he is!"

I fell into Elijah's arms and had only a moment to look up in horror as he drove straight for my throat.

And then I woke up.

Terror and the simple, primal instinct to live converged within me. An explosive force without any need for thought or higher thinking. Fight or flight.

_**Fight**_.

My fist swung out. I struck with all my strength and weight behind it, unthinking. Aiming for the shadowy body leaning over mine.

Faster than I could see, far faster than I could have hoped to avoid, a hand smacked into my fist. Iron fingers curling over my knuckles effectively stopping my attack. Dark eyes met mine, smoldering, and I braced myself for pain. For the feel of teeth ravaging my throat but that part never came.

I risked a look at Elijah's face.

I think that's the moment my mind separated dream from reality. Our gazes were locked, neither looking away from the other and Elijah's calm extinguished my panic so quickly it left me feeling dizzy. Heart still hammering away in my chest, I slowly went to pull my fist from his grip and he let me go.

Then, to my startled surprise Elijah's lips quirked in a small smirk. "Do you often wake as if you just heard the bell for Round 2?"

Yeah. No.

I flexed the fingers of my right hand, still feeling the iron strength of Elijah's grip. I was glad he stopped me before I hit him. I was glad he could! His move to catch my swinging fist was so fast, anyone would have thought we rehearsed it. I turned my arms over and took a quick look at the glyphs cut into the skin of my inner forearms. They were only just starting to heal. That was fine. I would have lost my mind if they'd been gone, like in the nightmare.

One hell of a nightmare.

"Was I making noise? Why'd you wake me up?" I asked. It sounded like an accusation. It wasn't. That dream . . . I shivered. Where had my subconscious conjured that Elijah was the monster?

"Your phone," Elijah said. His eyes scanned my face and, for just a second I thought I could feel him in my mind. His concern just a brush of sensation before withdrawing. He held my phone up, so that I could see it. The screen was lit as if it had only just stopped ringing. "It would not stop ringing and you weren't answering it."

In other words, he'd gotten worried. Made sense. I left my phone on the table right next to the bed before going to sleep. How come the ringing didn't wake me up? I pushed myself up to where I was sitting and swung my legs over the side of Elijah's bed. Took my phone from him and scrolled through my missed calls.

Thirteen missed calls . . . from my dad.

Oh, crap. Oh, crap!

Elijah, the traitor. I swear he sniggered when he saw "Dad" displayed in red on the glowing screen. I ignored that, thumb hovering over the option to call back. Should I? My gaze fixed on the time displayed in the corner of the screen. It was only just past ten at night. So I was right. Late but not wildly.

Still.

Funny, how hard it was to tap the screen. I was not afraid of my dad and after meeting Rayzael, what was the worse I could expect? Getting grounded? A nice, stern talk? I hit the call back button and put the phone to my ear. Didn't mind that Elijah was standing _**right there**_. After thirteen calls . . . yeah. I better call back.

"Dad probably already called the cops," I muttered. "Think I've been reported missing?"

"You _**are**_ missing," Elijah muttered back. "Your father has no idea where you are."

True.

"Rachel?" My dad's voice, loud and gruff in my ear. I winced.

"Yeah, dad. I'm here."

I swear I heard his relief in the following beat of silence. Then, "Where the hell are you? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Did I know where I was? Not really. I'd napped on the taxi ride here.

"I'm in the Quarter," I said, vaguely.

"Get. Home. Now."

My heart actually skipped at that. My dad _**never**_ got mad. He sounded furious. I swallowed.

"Rachel. Right now. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," I said. "I'm . . . on my way."

"You have ten minutes, little girl, or I swear I'll . . . I'll . . ." he let it hang. He didn't know what to say. I was aware enough to realize how truly worried he'd been for me. In a town where people were being abducted all over the place, I just up and decide not to come home one night? No note. No phone call. Worse than knowing I was in trouble was the swell of guilt I experienced as I realized exactly what my dad must have thought happened. I hadn't meant to make him scared for me.

"I'm coming home," I promised.

We hung up and I looked at Elijah. Tall, dark and devilishly handsome. He'd lit a desk lamp for light, and I saw that he'd changed out of the formal suit he was wearing earlier into a gunmetal gray sweater and dark slacks. The lamplight caressed his skin, deepening the color and accentuating the strong line of his jaw. Deepening the brown-black of his eyes. He looked great, especially for what he undoubtedly expected to be a night in. I actually had to shake my head to drag my attention back to priorities.

"I have to go," I told him. Stuck my feet into my shoes and quickly laced them up.

"I know," Elijah said. He sounded downright entertained by all this. His smile slanted and he pulled on a coat, deftly buttoning up the front. "I'll walk you."

My first impulse was to decline the offer. But why should I refuse? I would need him to show me the way, because I really did not know where we were beyond what I told my father. In the French Quarter somewhere. Cute. And despite knowing I was awake and okay, echoes of my nightmare – of blood and teeth and fear – shadowed my mind. I didn't want to walk alone.

* * *

Elijah entered his number into my phone while we walked before handing it back to me. I took it gratefully, feeling a small thrill of girlish pleasure as I saw **ELIJAH M.** printed in bold white on the screen above his mobile number. As strange as it was to admit, even to myself, it felt like a connection. Like we'd taken a proactive step towards deepening our bond. It scared and excited me. I did _**not**_ say that out loud.

And it felt good to walk beside him. The cool night breeze tangling in my hair. The bright, sparkling lights of the French Quarter and the noise and activity swirling all around, even as late as it was getting. We talked as we walked, and I enjoyed that, too. If I expected questions, they never came. Instead, Elijah focused on milder topics that at first seemed mundane until I realized he was learning more about me. Masterfully steering the conversation so that I didn't feel like I was being quizzed.

As soon as I noticed, I began paying closer attention. Observing. Learning.

Fascinated by him so that by the time we turned onto my dad's street, my head felt full and I was half convinced that intelligent, sharp Elijah was actually secretly brilliant. I wondered if I could win an argument with him. Probably not.

It wasn't until I saw the big redbrick apartment building that I froze. It happened so _**fast**_. All at once, icy cold crystallized around my heart. Just that morning, I woke up and invited a demon inside. I started shaking. Trembling without meaning to, so that I wrapped my arms around my middle to try and hide it. Or to keep myself from flying apart. My teeth were chattering and I turned away, ashamed of myself but genuinely too scared to care what anyone thought. No one knew, or could possibly understand, the horror of being caught and in the arms of a demon. The terror was all-consuming. It seeped into your skin. It permeated the air all around you, so that I you pulled it in with every short, choppy breath.

Without thinking, I turned my whole body and it wasn't until Elijah's arms came around me that I even noticed I had turned towards him. Unconsciously seeking solace from my soul-mate. And he was there. He held me in his arms, pressing me to his chest without a word. Aware of the terror that had taken hold. Comforting me with the strength of his arms. And I accepted what he offered, burying my face in his chest and just letting him hold me.

He didn't smell like the city, I thought dully. Still shaking from the trauma of my memories.

His scent was complex but not exactly complicated, if that made any sort of sense. Elijah smelled like autumn in the forest. Cool, dark soil and wind. Grass only just starting to glisten with frost. Crisp leaves that clung stubbornly to branches. Damp wood. Stone. Water. Over that was the slightly sharper scent of his cologne. Juniper, I thought, but not overpowering. It was a subtle scent that matched his natural autumn-y smell so well it seemed to complete it rather than compliment it.

Calmer now, I drew slowly back and Elijah loosened his hold to allow me to pull away. I looked into his eyes and felt . . . power. Dark and distinctly masculine. Ancient. I frowned, uncertain of what to make of that. My nightmare flickered, the memory of it taunting me. I pushed it away.

"My dad's going to lose his mind," I said, softly.

It felt weird to just wave, wish him a good night and go inside. I didn't know what to say. Thank you for holding me while I quivered in terror?

Elijah nodded. He had one hand still on my arm and the feel of his thumb lightly brushing my skin made me flush with chills that had nothing to do with demons.

"Rachel?" Elijah called as I was turning away.

I paused, looking back at him.

"Demons must be invited into the home, but only once to grant them permanent access," he told me. "However, if you pour a line of salt over the threshold, you can still keep the creature from entering."

"Salt," I repeated. Something like relief swelled in my chest. "Are you sure?"

"So long as you seal the threshold completely, then yes. _**Every**_ threshold. Windows. Doors. Even the ventilation." He dropped his gaze, then, and I sensed he had more to say. The silence stretched for several uncomfortably long seconds before he looked up again and added, "Rachel. There is power in an invitation. Never invite anyone into your home. Stand aside, imply that someone may come in but don't ever say the words. It makes no difference to humans but others would be locked out."

"Humans," I said. "Non-human. You say it like it's nothing. How much is out there?"

"Too much," Elijah responded.

I stared at him. "How do you know all this?"

"Rachel," Elijah said, sighing. "You need to go inside. I'll see you tomorrow."

Alright. Fine.

We parted then, though over our bond I remained very aware Elijah stayed close. He intrigued me. Fascinated me. He was a mystery. Our bond was getting stronger, firmer. It was getting easier to call up but I still couldn't make up my mind about him. Sean said I could trust him, and I sensed the truth of it for myself. He meant me no harm. I didn't even sense he meant any sort of deception. But there was too much I didn't know.

Who was Elijah?

Speaking of the ghost, I found Sean waiting for me in the hall. Leaning casually on the wall across from the door to my dad's apartment. I paused, startled he was there. He glanced up, smoky blue eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit corridor.

"Your dad is _**pissed**_," he said, smirking. "Approach with caution."

"Very useful, Sean," I muttered, moving for the door. I put my hand on the knob and sighed. "How much trouble do you think I'm in?"

He laughed.

I twisted the knob and swung the door open, stepping into the apartment. My dad was waiting for me, arms crossed over his chest and a look of thunder on his face.

Uh, yeah.

I was in trouble alright.


	15. Chapter 14 - Revelation

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 14**

**REVELATION**

* * *

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."

– **Buddha**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah hesitated on the threshold, gaze scanning the darkened interior of the compound courtyard. It was very quiet, with the deceptive stillness of a home at peace. The silence of sleep. That made Elijah immediately uneasy. He did not live alone, and his family had been notably absent these past few days. He _**had**_ given some thought as to what his siblings might be up to, knowing through experience that it was dangerous to lose track of them for any length of time but finding ones soul-mate did tend to throw things out of perspective. Elijah was quite aware he had fixated on her, rather than divide his attention accordingly. It was entirely his own fault, though he felt some of the blame could be shared with Rachel . . . if she only knew what she was doing to him. She had no idea.

She fascinated him.

It was as simple as that. He was fascinated, intrigued and more than a little entertained by her. He found himself enjoying the way her mind worked. She was intelligent. She possessed a quiet cunning that drew him and yet she was not perfect. Her youth. Her humanity. She had no real power and he thought that maybe that's where _**he**_ complimented her. Soul-mates were not supposed to be the same. Like puzzle pieces, they fit together. They did not overlap. The universe chose her for him and it hadn't been wrong.

For the first time in his life, he felt that he actually belonged with the person he was with.

Another novelty. For him, at least, there came a strange sort of euphoria in knowing that to Rachel he was just a man. He was not lying to her; simply withholding the truth of his nature. A secret he could not keep forever. That part frightened him. How to tell a girl who had only just been introduced to the supernatural world – a girl who was trying very hard to come to terms with all she was being forced to accept was real – that there was even more? That through him, she would be irrevocably bound to his world and because of that she would always be in danger from it.

Still, the supernatural community of this city had been quiet for weeks. He sensed no real trouble from that direction. For now, the biggest threats to his human soul-mate were his very own siblings. Elijah recognized the difficult position he was in. Rachel was under his protection, for now. Forever. And yet his siblings were equally powerful and, if necessary, equally driven. He needed to keep them away from Rachel but not so far that she became irresistible to them.

He needed to be very careful with how he handled this.

Which is why the quiet in his home bothered him as much as it did. Rachel was here with him for hours and they hadn't been bothered.

So where were Rebekah and Niklaus?

Elijah drew a deep breath and headed for the stairs, moving around the circumference of the courtyard rather than cutting straight through. He felt watched though his senses assured him he was perfectly alone. Hayley was in her room, awake but calm. Her pulse holding steady at its regular resting rate. He felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, imagining her curled on her little sofa. Lamplight shining in her dark hair, book resting on her knees as she slowly turned the pages. Absorbed with whatever she was reading. Not a week ago, he would have joined her. A quiet evening where neither said a word, simply enjoying each other's company until it grew late and they both retired for the night.

Now? Elijah moved quietly past Hayley's room, only just glancing at the yellow light spilling out from beneath her door.

He unbuttoned his jacket with a single hand while he continued to listen for any sounds. Searching for that elusive whisper of noise that would hint at what was there. He was sure there was something. The feeling of being watched persisted and Elijah thought to wonder if Rachel's demon had recognized him as a threat to itself and was now following _**him**_. It pleased him, imagining that the demon might be around. If the creature felt threatened it was because it thought he could do damage to it.

Shucking his coat, Elijah tossed it over a chair. Pulled his gray sweater up over his head and dropped it over his coat. Sighing and relieved to be home, he stretched; flexing the muscles in his shoulders. Cool air touched his skin, prickling it but he didn't mind. It felt nice, especially after the sweltering summer heat that hung like a shroud over the city. Elijah was looking forward to a long shower followed by a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was in no mood to deal with whatever drama was stirring. Not tonight.

Of course, the moment he decides he doesn't want to be bothered is the second one of his siblings makes a miraculous reappearance.

She made not a sound. It was the stir in the air, and the way the little hairs on the back of his neck prickled that alerted him to her presence. A solid body standing only feet away. Behind him.

"Rebekah," Elijah said, greeting her without turning. He briefly considered putting his shirt back on but he was already too far from the chair to bother going back for it.

"Could you _**be**_ more obvious?" his sister drawled at his back.

Elijah turned, then. Fixing the tall blonde with a look. He kept himself still. His mind deliberately quiet. Braced for whatever was about to happen.

Rebekah surprised him, however. She tilted her head at his bed, indicating she was quite aware that he'd had company but giving no indication of how much she actually knew. The part that surprised him is that despite the challenge that had been in her voice she immediately dropped the topic. "I thought you'd want to know. The Seventeen Missing have just reappeared."

"And this concerns us . . . why?" Elijah asked. He heaved a mental sigh, sensing that his quiet night had been canceled.

"It doesn't, really," Rebekah asked. "Refreshing, isn't it? To have some great mystery that has nothing at all to do with any of us."

Offering a slanted smile, Elijah walked over to the chair and picked up his shirt. Reluctantly put it on. His night was not over. Damn. "Why are you here, Rebekah?"

"Because the seventeen who were taken were returned this evening," she repeated. "Dead, of course. But that's not what got my attention. Their bodies were dropped in the exact locations where they were supposed to have been taken to start with. Fascinating. Who does that?"

Trust his sister to uncover a mystery to interest him. But not now. He was half tempted to tell Rebekah to wait until morning before burdening him with yet another problem but she wasn't done speaking and the next part couldn't be ignored.

"Four witches were taken tonight. One girl and three boys disappeared right out of their homes. Sound familiar?"

It did. When the kidnappings had first begun, they were identified as a pattern as quickly as they were because four had been taken simultaneously. Three boys and a girl. Taken right out of their homes.

"You think it's started again?"

"Started again," Rebekah said. "Or starting over? We've known from the start that this could not possibly be random."

"There was never anything these . . . unfortunates, had in common with each other," Elijah pointed out. Other than their ages, of course. Adolescent, all of them.

"They had nothing in common that we could find," Rebekah countered. "That doesn't mean there wasn't anything at all. We ignored this because it was decided there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Not our business. I think we missed something. And now the witches have been targeted. Although, granted that may only be a coincidence."

The witches, Elijah mused. The witches had been targeted and if the kidnappings held to the previous series of abductions – if it was truly a pattern – then the next to be taken would be two. Two girls. The witch community of this city would not be happy with this, and unlike the human families of the seventeen who were taken before . . . the witches had the power to retaliate. They had been quiet for weeks, content for the time being to just rest and recover their strength. Occupied with their own affairs. But a direct attack would stir their ire into a frenzy and no one wanted that. The witches were tired, not crippled and Elijah was loathed to intervene. They would be in the right, here, to protect their children from whoever was making off with them.

"Do the witches have suspicions on who might be responsible for this?" he asked his sister.

Rebekah lifted one graceful shoulder in a shrug. "They're calling out the werewolves. Personally, I think the only reason vampires are not being blamed is because we could not have gone into a private home to take these kids. Believe me; the witches would _**love**_ to pin this on us."

The werewolves. A possibility but Elijah didn't give the suspicion much credit. The humans could also have just walked straight through a front door, but he doubted very much they could carry out four separate and simultaneous abductions on witch families. Not without the parents being aware of what was happening, at least.

This was absurd.

No. This would start a war.

The witches would be out for blood and he couldn't fault them for that. Relations among the city's supernatural community were fragile. Whatever peace there seemed to be was really only a momentary cease fire between the factions. The Originals, or else only he and Rebekah since Niklaus seemed to have completely fallen off the map, would have to mediate this before the city ignited with another war.

The vampires had nothing to do with the serial kidnapping plaguing New Orleans, and Elijah truly had no idea who – or what – was responsible. However, those who were to blame had effectively drawn his attention.

A fatal mistake. One that many before this had not lived to regret.

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I did not know what Elijah was doing all night, but it kept us _**both**_ up. I was bombarded with little flurries of frustration and annoyance spilling over our link until I finally just passed out. Too tired to keep staring at the ceiling. I woke up fairly early, though, rested and strangely refreshed. I dressed in a long sleeved shirt to cover the glyphs on my forearms and come out of my room in time to have a quick breakfast with my dad before he left for work.

After my vanishing act last night, I was officially grounded. Not allowed to step foot outside the apartment until it was time to leave for the airport. I would be catching a redeye back to Seattle and . . . I really wasn't sure what to feel about that. I should have told Elijah the truth, while I had the chance. I was going home. _**Tonight**_. It had completely slipped my mind. But I had his number in my phone, now, at least. I wouldn't leave him behind completely . . . it still felt as if I should maybe tell him I was leaving in a few hours. But I so did not want to make that call.

So after promising my dad that I would behave and stay inside he left for work and a few minutes later I could be found on my hands and knees by the front door, carefully pouring a line of salt over the carpet. I might have been leaving soon but I would be alone all day. I wanted to make sure nothing got inside. I could do without another demonic encounter, thank you. Once I was satisfied that the front door had been properly sealed, I moved to the central heating vents in the living room and kitchen. My dad's room, not forgetting to salt his window. And then I went to my own little bedroom.

Sean arrived, then. I was on my knees in the small space between my bed and the window-wall, laying down a thin square of salt around the vent. I noticed he was there when a chill went up my spine. Cold. Ghost.

"Can you leave the window open, at least," Sean said, leaning over my shoulder to see what I was doing.

"Elijah said I had to seal every entrance," I told him. "A window is a threshold."

"Yeah," Sean agreed. "But how am _**I**_ supposed to get in?"

I sighed and put the nearly empty box down between my knees. Pushed a few grains of salt that'd spilled into the line.

"Salt repels ghosts," I muttered. Of course it does. Why wouldn't it? "Can't you pass through walls? Why the hell would you need an open threshold?"

He didn't respond. I looked over, but he hadn't vanished. He was standing quietly with his arms crossed over his chest. Watching me, not the salt.

"What?"

"Don't know. Something's happening."

I climbed to my feet, grabbed the box of salt and set it down on the narrow windowsill. I wanted to keep Rayzael out. Sean was welcome. Crap, I couldn't get rid of one without losing the other. I wasn't sure what to do. What were the odds of Rayzael coming for me within the next few hours? Could I risk leaving the apartment partially open?

"Maybe you _**should**_ finish sealing the place," Sean muttered. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, standing there in the bright sunlight. "Something's going on."

Oh, what now?

"Demon?"

"No." He shook his head and peeked through my window, eyes sweeping down to scan the street. "Something else."

Something else. In this city, there always seemed to be more. I slipped up beside Sean and looked out, too. Searching for whatever he thought might be out there. Cars rolled by. People strolled in and out of the grocery store across the street. It was too hot standing by the window, where the sunshine beaming in through the glass was magnified. I could already feel sweat starting to trickle down the centre of my back. My neck, beneath my hair.

And then I saw it.

It was just a flicker of motion. A girl, tall but not towering with soft white blonde hair cut to her shoulders. Fair skin. Lean but not skinny. My stomach lurched and my heart stopped. For one breathless moment, I couldn't believe what I'd just seen. Erin?

No. No, impossible.

Where had she gone? Bracing my hands on the windowsill, I leaned forward to see better. Rested my forehead on the searing hot glass. Where was she? There! I hadn't seen her enter the grocery store, but through the large front windows I could see her inside. Just for a second before she turned down an aisle.

I spun away from the window and Sean's hand shot out, grasping my arm. Restraining me for the split-second it took my brain to remember he was only a ghost. Once I did his hand lost its solidity and I felt only a tremor of cold prickles as he passed through me.

We stared at each other, his blue eyes glinting with frustration.

"Don't go!" he said.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I need to be sure it wasn't her."

* * *

It was even hotter outside than in the stuffy apartment. I hit the street running, pelting across the steaming asphalt as I raced across two lanes. A car honked but it was pretty far. Not like I cut him off or anything. The sun seemed to shine even brighter, blindingly white as the summer heat took one last swing at us. How long could the heatwave possibly last?

I burst through the store's front doors and looked quickly around. It was a smaller store, not some huge bustling Safeway. The shelves were aged wood. Only two checkouts. A small deli and rows of fridges along the back wall. Produce neatly displayed as wide pyramids of apples and oranges and grapefruits on tables at the front. At first glance, everything looked normal. There were a few customers strolling lazily in an out of aisles, pushing their carts ahead of them. An older woman carefully inspected tomatoes with her basket hooked on her arm.

No one was young enough to mistaken for my cousin. But I was sure – absolutely positive – that the girl I'd seen was my own age.

Sean hadn't followed me. I wished he had. We could have searched faster with two of us, and _**he**_ was invisible so at least nobody would notice him stalking customers though the store. I pushed through the nearest aisle, moving quickly towards the back of the store. It was cooler there, with the refrigerated air seeping through the glass doors of fridges. Milk and butter and eggs back here. Yogurts. No humans. Not Erin. Not even a random shopper.

_**Ch-klink.**_

I spun. Looked around for what had made that sound and saw, to my growing apprehension, the "Employees Only" sign on a door. What would be back there? Storage, most likely. It sounded as if someone had shut the door.

I sensed Elijah, then. It startled me into pausing. He was around but not nearby. A few blocks away, if I had to guess. And it hadn't been me who initiated the contact. I couldn't make out what he was trying to tell me, but for the first time _**ever**_ our minds had linked on purpose. I focused on that connection and thought Elijah felt a little angry. This was freaky weird. I shook my head, dispelling our connection.

To my surprise, denying it was all it took to make it go away. It was like a wall came down in my mind, blocking Elijah. Even stranger was the blast of force that slammed into that invisible wall. Like Elijah had slapped his fist on it out of sheer frustration. Okay, yeah. Definitely weird. Our bond was getting freaky strong.

_**Ch-klink.**_

The employee door clicked open, again. I waited but it didn't move more than that. Nobody walked out. Now, by this point I'd regained a measure of my former good sense. Sean's warning not to go out finally registered. How much trouble had I just gotten myself into? Every instinct I possessed told me not to go into the back room. And though I'd shut Elijah out of my mind – I hadn't even known I _**could**_ do that – I could still feel him. His presence. He was getting closer very, very quickly. He was coming straight for me it seemed.

I backed away from the employee door; cracked open as if to tempt me to walk through. To corner myself in the backroom of a store. Ah, hell no.

"Sean?" I whispered.

_**Whap!**_

"Oh! Excuse me," said a woman, having accidentally rammed the corner of her cart into my hip as she was rounding out of an aisle. I had my hand over my chest, pressing down over my wildly beating heart. I could feel the blood pounding in my head. The woman must have seen the panic in my eyes. She frowned. Didn't ask me if I was okay, she just frowned and edged her cart around me. Off to peruse the yogurt fridge further down the wall.

I took a deep breath, struggling to calm myself. Glanced at the employee door again. Nothing.

I turned on my heels and started to walk away. I could see the front door at the end of the aisle, shining bright with sunlight. A beacon. Not far at all, and then I would be safely outside. Too easy.

In the time it took me to feel the yank on my shirt collar, to realize I couldn't breathe as it was pulled tight across my throat and the dizzying rush of air stinging brutally from the speed with which I'd been whisked away . . . it was far too late to do anything about it.

I did, however, feel the bone-jarring _**WHAM**_ as my body was slammed up against a steel locker. Every ounce of air knocked out of me. I gasped, disoriented and honestly more confused that truly afraid. It all happened so fast that the fear hadn't had a chance to catch up. I would feel it in a second. Right then, I could only think to cling to the hand clamped over my throat. Immovable fingers digging threateningly into the hollows behind my jaw, applying just enough pressure to hurt but deliberately not pressing down.

_Elijah! _I called to him and felt his immediate response. A reassuring brush for me, a promise that he was coming, coupled with red rage directed solely at my captor. He was close! So, so close.

Courage. I swallowed, my fingers scrabbling to loosen the rock-solid hand squeezing my throat. Fear finally caught up and panic was starting to seep into my brain. The clinical part of me, the part that noted and stored details for later use wasn't touched by that panic. Through the gray starting to speckle over my vision, I fixed my gaze on his face. Determined to remember it, on the off chance I survived. Short sand-blonde hair. Focused blue-gray eyes . . . very similar to Sean's stormy color. A few day's growth on his chin and cheeks. It worked for him, I thought numbly. Rather than look unkempt, it made him seem rugged. Dangerous.

Gray. Everything was going gray. I couldn't see and I doubted that was good for me. I could breathe but only just enough to keep me conscious. Through the blur, the confusion and the mounting panic as my lungs strained for more than they were being allowed, I heard a voice. Cool. Not particularly threatening. Remarkably conversational coming from someone in the process of strangling a girl, "Where were you off to? And here I thought it was time we met."

I was going to pass out. Strangling. I was strangling.

Elijah arrived. I didn't see it. I sure felt him, though. Dark. Immensely powerful. _**Too powerful**_. In my oxygen-deprived delirium, I thought I sensed that power swell. Like a tidal wave, or an earthquake. Power like that. Elemental. But that . . . couldn't . . . be right.

The hand around my throat was gone. Gone so fast it might have just vanished, taking me a second to even register that it wasn't there anymore. I slumped to the floor.

_**WHAM-CRUNCH!**_

A body was flung, slamming into a concrete wall. The force shattering the rock. A starburst of little lightning bolts flickering out from the impact centre. I blinked, my vision finally clearing. Not sure if I should believe what my eyes were saying. I scrabbled back, sliding up against the dented locker behind me. I stared, trying to focus on the melee in front of me but it was too fast. They were moving like whips of lightning! I could only catch the impression of motion. Flickers of bodies whenever they slowed. The damage around us, though, was all the evidence I would have needed that there was a colossal fight happening right in front of me. The store's storeroom was a mess. Utterly destroyed.

Then, just as suddenly as it started everything stopped. And in that moment I saw everything.

Elijah had pinned my grinning captor to the ground. Elijah. Veins pulsing beneath the skin around his blood red eyes. Lips drawn menacingly back to expose fangs. His power beating at my mind while my brain whirled for an explanation. Suddenly, all those little glimpses of himself Elijah let slip fell into place. I saw . . . I remembered. My dream. The horror of my nightmare.

Sean was there. From nowhere he was just suddenly right there, kneeling beside me on the cool concrete of the storeroom.

"Get up," he was saying, whispering. Invisible. Only I knew he was even there. "C'mon, get up!"

I don't know where I found the strength but I did. I climbed to my feet and backed away.

The man on the floor, the one who'd snatched me with a mind-boggling speed laughed. "I think you're secret is out, brother," he mocked. "This is getting interesting. I really had no idea she didn't know."

Elijah shoved his brother into the floor. _**Hard**_.

I met Elijah's gaze, eyes still that awful bloody red. I watched as the blood faded. His eyes cleared until only his familiar onyx-brown remained. He stood up, backing away from the man still on the ground. We stood staring across at each other. There was only a few feet of space separating us, but the distance could not have been more vast. I stared and, without my permission my mind conjured what it needed. I knew exactly what he was.

Elijah stood so, so still. Without even a whisper of sound to show he was there. And Sean, unknown, hovered at my shoulder. Everyone, it seemed, waiting to see what I would do.

What could I do?

I pressed against the employee door, hand grasping blindly backward for the knob. Giving one hard twist, I shoved the door open and ran.

I ran away.

Elijah, my soul-mate, was a vampire. And I could not have been more afraid . . .


	16. Chapter 15 - Division

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hey all! It has been two weeks – almost to the day – since I last updated and for that I am sincerely sorry. I don't know exactly why, but I had a __**HARD**__ time writing this chapter. There are four copies of this chapter sitting in my "spares" folder of my PC. I would write about halfway through and then scrap it to start over. -_- Not funny._

_With all the troubles I had writing this, and my serious nerves about how well this chapter will actually turn out, I hope nobody is disappointed by it. :) I really did try to write this quicker . . . I never meant for people to have to wait so long for my update._

_That said, this chapter is being dedicated 100% to _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_. A fellow fanfic writer and a very good friend who – honestly – deserves a MUCH better chapter to have dedicated to her! Haha Everyone who's been waiting impatiently for this update has _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_ to thank for me getting this out. I don't know where I'd be without her. She was always there to talk to, to brainstorm with . . . to assure me there was absolutely nothing wrong with my writing and I was just being paranoid . . . yeah. She even chose this chapter's quote! LOL Thanks for all the help, Heaven. I needed it and you were there. :)_

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 15**

**DIVISION**

* * *

I thought you were my fairytale

A dream when I'm not sleeping

A wish upon a star that's coming true

Now I know you're not a fairytale

And dreams were meant for sleeping

And wishes on a star

Just don't come true

– **When There Was Me and You**

from the_ High School Musical Soundtrack_

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Run!

I had to get away. Escape! Run. The image of blood-filled eyes haunted each step as I pelted across the street, my own eyes trained on the big brick building on the other side. I didn't even check for traffic. How I managed to avoid a collision was beyond me. Running flat out across the lanes of bleached asphalt . . . panic and denial burned in my chest, choking the air from my lungs. I didn't know what to do. I was confused. Hurting.

Elijah. A vampire. The whole time I'd sensed there was something not quite right with him but I ignored it. I can't even say I was lying to myself because I genuinely hadn't touched on that wrongness. I hadn't wanted to, too caught up in the pleasure of his company and our mysterious connection to question the little things. I did not want to think I'd been naïve but I let myself believe what I wanted to be true, not necessarily what was. A part of me had known exactly what he was. And that part had tried to warn the rest of me. I'd seen him, hadn't it? In my dreams. In my nightmare. The teeth. The eyes. The creature diving for my throat, fangs glistening. Cold flesh like glass against my skin.

I'd deliberately ignored the warning my own mind was sending. I ignored my own sense.

Only . . . Elijah's skin was not cold. The few times I'd touched him he'd always been cooler but still warm. Lukewarm, I realized now. His eyes didn't shine with Rayzael's demon brilliance like in my dream. No. His eyes had gone dark, filling with blood. Not exactly an improvement, but there was some comfort in the absence of that demonic light.

I was . . . confused. I didn't know what to think; what to believe.

Madness!

I slammed through the doors of the apartment building. Running, my calves aching as I shot up the first flight of stairs. I caught the banister with a hand, swinging my whole body around so that I wouldn't have to slow down before starting up the second flight. My footfalls echoed hollowly in the stairwell. Loud, though. No effort going towards stealth. Panic swelled, shooting like cold fire through my veins as I reached the third floor. I stopped there for just a second, staring at the steel handle that opened to the corridor. I needed to go through but the thought that somebody might be waiting for me on the other side paralyzed my limbs. I stood still, heart hammering in my chest.

Peeking through the little glass window, the hall appeared empty.

I'd seen way too many horror films to believe a deserted corridor was actually deserted. Who takes their cues from horror movies? A girl branded by demons with a vampire right behind her, that's who. Every shred of sense I had warned me against going out, but I couldn't stay in the damned stairwell and I really had nowhere else to go. I could see the door from where I was. My dad's apartment. It would take seconds to get there, if I ran. My stomach lurched.

I slipped quietly out of the stairwell and paused again, holding my breath to listen. The apartment door beckoned temptingly. So close, but I stayed where I was. Some primal instinct having recognized that something wasn't right. _Wait,_ it said. Something was there. Right there.

I scanned the corridor, moving just my eyes but there was nothing to see. The hall was empty, without even a box or chair left out. If someone was there, they had nowhere to hide. My heart picked up a beat, thudding in my chest. In my head. I pushed away from the stairwell door and started moving. One step. Two steps . . . something in my mind flickered. It was only just a sensation, like a leaf twisting in the breeze. Motion. Elijah was coming.

I broke. I took off, racing down the hall straight for the apartment. I would lock myself inside. Lock the door and push the couch in front of it! I remembered what Elijah said, about never inviting someone into the home. An invitation carried power. Did vampires need permission to enter, like demons did? Why would Elijah offer me a defense against himself, or had he thought I might one day _**need**_ to know how to keep him out, too?

I was almost there. Almost to the door.

Six feet, five feet . . . four, three, two . . .

I really should have expected what happened next. The hall was empty. Deserted. No one behind me; no sounds of pursuit. Sweat, from the heat and my own persistent fear stung my eyes.

I blinked.

That's all it took.

I blinked and he was there. He was just suddenly right there in front of me.

Elijah.

Tall, dark and deceptively unthreatening. He had to have put on a tremendous burst of speed to cut me off when, just a second ago, my mind registered that he'd still been across the street. His hair was a little messed; wind-tossed. The arms of his suit jacket wrinkled from the fight in the grocery store's backroom. That's it. Just _**wrinkled**_.

He stood still, enduring my quick inspection. The lack of damage done to his clothes told me what I'd already suspected. He was powerful. Dangerous. As brutal as the fight had seemed to me, it hadn't been anything to him . . . what had I gotten myself into?

Bracing myself, I lifted my eyes to his face.

His eyes, onyx-brown, were already so dark that they couldn't deepen any further. Instead, they hardened. Like flints of stone. Hard, but quiet. He stood very still. Waiting. I swallowed, moistening my dry throat so that my voice wouldn't crack. But I couldn't stop the slight tremor as I said, "What are you going to do?"

What I meant was: _**What are you going to do to me?**_ But I couldn't make myself say that. I wasn't sure I wanted to get quite so specific.

"What makes you think I intend to do anything?" Elijah countered. There was nothing in his tone to give away what he was thinking. But our bond made it so that I could read a little more than what he allowed.

He felt very cold to me, now. His mind sharpened by a quick, dangerous calculation.

I held up my hands, tempted to take a step back. I kept my gaze locked with his though it was hard not to shrink beneath the weight of those dark, dark eyes.

"Look, I swear I won't say anything."

His gaze didn't waver. "I know."

What was that supposed to mean? For one wild second, I thought maybe he was threatening me. An implied threat that if I told anybody I would be the next person to end up disappeared without a trace. Or worse. What if he didn't wait for me to freak out and start babbling about vampires? It would be safer to just finish me off right here and eliminate whatever threat I might pose by what I knew.

Elijah frowned and I realized he'd caught my thought. He knew I was weighing my chances; that I'd already debated trying for the door despite the fact that he was actually closer to it than I was. The odds of me getting past him were zero . . . so I didn't try.

"Look, just . . ." I hesitated. Elijah tilted his head a little, inviting me to continue. "Just . . . let me go."

Weak. Such a weak plea but it was all I could manage with him looking at me like that. Like he was still trying to decide what to do with me. A thrill of cold prickles tickled my scalp. My hair standing on end. Elijah had the power, all the power and I hated it.

He sighed. Glanced down, breaking the hold his eyes had on me before looking quickly up again. "You're afraid of me."

I didn't deny it.

"I never meant for you to learn the truth in this manner," he said, offering a slight, humorless smile. "This is never what I intended."

"What did you intend?" I asked softly.

He sighed. "Not this."

Well, that was profound. The admission confused me more than it should have. Did he intend on telling me eventually? Or was he only sorry for the circumstances?

"You were never in any danger from me, Rachel," he said. He kept his gaze steady, as if willing me to believe him. "I mean you no harm."

My stubborn resolve wavered at those words. The sincerity in his quiet voice. I did feel that he meant what he said but even as my heart swelled, wanting to accept him for what he was, the glyphs on my arms stung and pinched. A hot reminder of the danger I was already in. I couldn't do it. I was just so tired and I didn't have the strength to just accept the threat of a vampire with the hope I wasn't making a mistake.

"Rachel?" Elijah prodded.

What did he expect from me? His insistence, almost a demand for me to figure things out _**right now**_ and make a decision caused me caused my fear to dissolve beneath a quick flash of anger. Frustration.

"Look, just . . . let me pass alright?"

"Alright," he said, and I blinked. Surprised by Elijah's easy capitulation.

I was so surprised by it that I hesitated, expecting some sort of trick or trap but Elijah stood back. Allowing me enough room to slip past him to the door of my dad's apartment. I took a shaky breath. He continued to watch me as I edged forward, and I watched him. Waiting for him to make a move towards me. But he didn't.

The bright florescent bulb over our heads flickered and we both turned up to look at it. My heart hammered in my chest as Elijah's gaze swung around to scan the empty corridor. The crackle and snap of the bulb flickering seemed ominous and somehow significant. My hand closed over the cool doorknob of my dad's apartment and with a single sharp twist it flew open. I immediately shot over the threshold, essentially just skipping into the apartment. Smooth amusement slid into my mind, like a ribbon of emotion and I turned to find Elijah smirking at me.

"What?"

"Stay inside. Finish salting the doors," he waved a hand at the narrow line of white crystals unbroken on the floor "and, when you're ready . . . call for me. Day or night, Rachel. Just call. I'll be waiting."

I swallowed, my throat mysteriously going bone dry again. He sounded so certain that I would need him again. The fear had lessened to nearly nonexistent, now, but something – a wall of sorts – had come down between us. I didn't know if he felt it too but I did. And it was that wall that concerned me because, despite his assurance that I would be allowed time to come to terms with what he was . . . I felt lost. Alone.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah was loathed to leave. He remained acutely aware of Rachel's presence, so near to him and yet she had never been so far. He knew he'd frightened her. He'd never wanted that and the cold terror in her gray eyes as he slammed Niklaus bodily into the concrete, shattering the hard stone from the force of his rage, had struck him harder than any blow he could have inflicted on his smirking brother.

He hadn't been very far when he first sensed the danger Rachel was in. It had come to him as a flicker of confusion and mild apprehension. Her emotions calling to him over their bond. She hadn't immediately realized the threat to herself, she was only uneasy, but _**he**_ recognized it right away. His brother – his immensely powerful hybrid brother – was stalking his soul-mate. He had rushed to rescue her, hoping to arrive before Klaus could strike but he hadn't been fast enough. Or else Rachel's quick retreat had pushed Klaus to act sooner than he intended.

Either way, Elijah missed the initial attack. Rachel was already pinned to the steel lockers, near hysterical with animalistic terror as her throat was very slowly crushed. A deliberate maneuver to keep her conscious long enough to feel every ounce of air leaving her body. She would remain awake throughout her suffocation as a deliberate taunt. A cruel torment that, even now, Elijah couldn't quite understand. For all his impulsiveness Niklaus had no reason to go after a human girl who had done nothing to him, personally, with such brutality. . . unless he knew.

Unless he knew that Rachel was not some random girl in a supermarket. Elijah hadn't wanted his family to learn of her so soon, but he hadn't exactly been careful to avoid being seen with her. Rebekah had already made it known that she was aware of Rachel, though she hadn't seemed remarkably interested. Niklaus, however, had been entirely _**too**_ interested in Elijah's human soul-mate.

Elijah didn't believe Klaus' assertion that he hadn't known Rachel was unaware of the vampires. The entire encounter had seemed like a test meant to draw him out. How far would Elijah go to protect his human? Far . . . and now, at least, Elijah knew exactly how quickly any threat to her could arouse the darkest parts of his nature.

What right did he have to call his brother impulsive when he, himself, had so thoroughly lost his mind? He never meant to show his fangs but his fear for Rachel's life, so fleeting in his brother's hands, had so overwhelmed him that the vampire had risen dark and deadly with no thought at all to the consequences.

And Rachel . . . confused and in pain, terrified nearly beyond reason at having been attacked, had shifted the focus of her terror from Klaus – her attacker – to the one with fangs. He recognized that it hadn't been a conscious decision. Still. The sight of her fear, coupled with her terror seeping into him through their bond had stricken him.

Sighing deeply, Elijah closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

His keen hearing seeking out the familiar, heavy thud of Rachel's heartbeat. A little fast, perhaps but the rhythm was normal. He heard her choke on what sounded like a sob, the sound immediately joined by music as she switched on a radio. Clever girl . . . she didn't know that the noise wouldn't confuse his senses but it was an intelligent move, nonetheless.

The overhead light began to flicker again, the irritating buzz punctuated by sharp crackles. Elijah fixed on the light for a moment, unaware that he was sensing the same subtle shift in the atmosphere of the corridor that had so unnerved Rachel before.

Light, quick footsteps sounded on the floor behind him. Someone coming up the stairs.

He turned, placing his hands in his pockets to wait for the person to appear but though the footsteps reached the third floor landing . . . nobody came into sight. The footfalls stopped there. He quietly pulled his hands free and unbuttoned the front of his suit jacket; for mobility, and then walked to the stairs. Static crackled, raising the hairs on his arms. Every sense on fire with the certainty that somebody was there. He was being watched. Assessed, it felt like.

It was the same sensation he'd been experiencing all night as he scoured the city with his sister, going to the locations where the Seventeen Missing were taken and just as mysteriously returned. If something had followed him, he had thoughtlessly led it straight to Rachel's door and she had enough problems. Between his brother and her demon . . . she didn't need more.

Placing his hand on the heavy door that led to the stairwell, Elijah gave a light push and stepped out onto the landing. There was no one there. He looked up, then down.

More footsteps. He hesitated, only a little unsettled by the strangeness of the situation. He felt no fear, secure in his immortality. His attention turned down again, and he moved to lean on the railing so that he could look over the side. And this time, he saw something. A form, or a figure. Solid but flighty. A flicker of motion climbing the stairs.

He stared, frozen with curiosity and caution as the creature moved quickly higher, swinging around the banister of the second story landing before hurrying its ascent towards the third floor.


	17. Chapter 16 - Another Player

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hey all! Just real quick; neither Stacy Malcolm nor KBVR News are real. I made them up. It would have taken only a second to quickly look up the name of a real news station in New Orleans but I felt "safer" in not using a place that actually exists for this fic. Really don't think anybody's going to mind, but still needed to be said! haha_

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 16**

**ANOTHER PLAYER**

* * *

"Remember: the time you feel lonely is the time you most need to be by yourself.

Life's cruelest irony."

– **Douglas Coupland**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Footsteps ringing in the stairwell. The ominous flicker and snap of the florescent lights creating the illusion of thunder and lightning. It was all very dramatic. Very staged. A deliberate ambiance meant to unnerve him. It wasn't working. Elijah moved back from the banister and listened to those footfalls grow nearer as the person hurried up the stairs. He listened; extending himself through his senses to reach further than any human could possibly go. And it wasn't the footfalls, the light tread as the person ascended quickly carrying her weight on her toes rather than her heels or the slight sigh of her breathing that snared his attention.

From the whole of the person approaching, his focus tightened to a singular detail.

There was no heartbeat. None.

Finally, she came into sight. The crown of her head first, and then her face and body as she climbed the last few steps up to the third floor landing where Elijah waited. She was lovely. A girl with smooth, lightly tanned skin. A fall of honey-brown hair and sparkling gray eyes, crowned in amber around the pupils. As if to show the fire burning within could not be contained; flames unleashed through her eyes. He'd fallen in love with those eyes the moment she first turned her exhausted, haunted gaze on him thus triggering the completion of their soul-bond.

Rachel.

The sight of her there, so unexpected, threw Elijah so completely that for just a moment his mind emptied. He could not form a single coherent thought as what he saw made so little sense to him he froze. He stared at this girl; perfectly identical to the Rachel he knew – _**knew**_ – he only just left safely inside her father's home. Confused. There was no other word for it. He was simply . . . confused.

The girl paused at the top of the stairs. She looked at him, startled to find this man standing there staring blankly at her. She glanced quickly at the door next to him. Those stunning, clever gray-brown eyes turned back on Elijah and she offered a hesitant smile. There was no recognition in her gaze.

Elijah straightened with immediate suspicion. Not because she didn't appear to know him, but that her scent wafted thickly off her skin. Charred steel only not so harsh. More electric. She smelled like the air after a lightning strike. And where he should have felt the tug in his chest – that pull of recognition towards his soul-mate – he felt nothing at all towards this girl wearing Rachel's face.

Whatever this was in front of him, it wasn't her and Elijah was not amused.

The absence of the soul-bond made it so that he understood this creature had stolen her appearance, not her body. Rachel – _**his**_ Rachel – was safe in the apartment down the hall. And though _**she**_ had nothing to fear from him, this thing standing in front of him was playing a dangerous game.

"Um, what are you doing?" she asked, unaware that Elijah had already made up his mind that she was fake.

Her voice was identical to Rachel's but it was not perfect. Something, an inflection or a tone that wasn't quite right. And now that he was paying attention to her falsehood, he saw that her eyes were also wrong. They were intelligent, bright eyes . . . achingly familiar. But where Rachel's swift intelligence was quiet, a strength that was too natural and too much a part of her for her to be aware of it, these eyes were deliberate. Hard. Calculating.

The overhead lights flickered again, their sharp snap and crackle punctuated by the scent of burning glass as the bulbs slowly charred at the surges of power. More ambiances. He looked at the girl in front of him, aware that she had been subtly edging closer to him.

Elijah's hand shot out, and he caught the girl by the throat. Lifting her effortlessly off the ground to pin her to the wall. "What are you?"

Shape-shifters were usually bound to two forms. Their human shape and an animal form. To have so deliberately chosen it's form to resemble someone specific made this creature something else.

Strong, slender hands closed over Elijah's wrist, twisting hard to loosen his hand. Elijah scarcely felt the struggle, his Original power eclipsing whatever strength she possessed. The girl choked and gagged when he started to apply pressure and Elijah, stricken all over again as he saw Rachel's face strangling, immediately relented. He held her, caging her, but only lightly. Careful not to hurt her.

Sensing his distress and amused by his quick mercy at the sight of his soul-mate choking in his grasp, the girl wearing Rachel's face ceased her struggling and smirked. Unafraid. Basking in her manipulation.

"What are you?" Elijah demanded, allowing his blood to surge and swell the veins in his eyes. He felt his fangs lengthen, smooth and deadly and he pulled his lips back to expose them. "I will not ask again."

"Oh, sweet master vampire," the creature crooned. Laughter danced in its stolen gray-brown eyes. "I meant no harm."

Elijah tightened his grip on the creature's throat. It wasn't Rachel . . . it _**wasn't**_ Rachel. He was careful, only applying enough pressure to cause a little pain – a warning – and yet the creature didn't appear to feel anything at all. It smiled at him.

There was still no heartbeat.

"I'm only me," the creature said. "A wanderer. A traveler. A tale-teller and so far above vampirism I could have broken you before you even knew I was here. Let go of me."

Without meaning to, Elijah did.

He dropped his hand from the creature's throat and took a cautious step back. Retracted his fangs as the creature straightened her top with a single hard tug and then shifted her weight to one leg. Crossed her arms over her chest and offered him a brilliant, friendly smile. "There. Now, isn't this more civilized? May we speak?"

Elijah didn't respond to that because he felt it now. What he'd missed before or, more likely, what had remained hidden from him until right that moment. Power. Very bright. Very cold. His first frantic thought was that this was Rayzael. The stories all told of demons who could alter their shape but something about that wasn't quite right. Rachel's memories of her encounter with her demon were hot, brutal and violently savage. They were like staring into the face of raw rage.

This felt different.

Calmer. More a controlled fury – a power that swirled, only without the consuming, hungry roar of a raging inferno such as the demon possessed. As if reading his mind, the creature's smile widened. Amused again. Pleased at the comparison, perhaps.

"Ah, don't worry about your girl," it said. "I got nothing against that one. Don't really care about her either way, if we're being honest. I'mma here for you!"

Good to know. Elijah narrowed his eyes.

The creature sighed. "Fine. Here. Does this help?"

Rachel's stolen image, her familiar face, twisted and blurred. The suddenness of it startled Elijah but he stayed rooted to where he was. Watching; simultaneously appalled and intrigued as the face and her entire body stretched and morphed as if she were a figure made of softened wax. Easily malleable. It was such a swift and complete alteration that Elijah felt himself going cross-eyed trying to focus on what was happening. He blinked, and in that split-second of blindness it was over.

Rachel was gone. In her place stood the tall, lean figure of his brother in jeans and a t-shirt under a brown leather jacket.

Niklaus.

The creature hadn't only altered its appearance. It had the power to change its clothes in the process. What if what he saw was only just an illusion, rather than an actual transformation?

"Better?" the creature asked.

Not really, no. Elijah was still furious with Klaus' assault on Rachel and had the distinct impression his brother would be avoiding him for the next couple of days. Long enough for Elijah's fury to cool. Elijah planned on thoroughly thrashing Niklaus the next time he saw him . . . no matter how long the hybrid chose to wait before reappearing.

"You said you were here for me," Elijah said, not commenting on the creature's choice of shapes. "Well?"

It tilted its head in a distinctly bird-like manner and Elijah saw its eyes searing a hot, wolfish gold. Sharp hybrid teeth, fangs longer than those of a vampire, slid down and the creature cackled delightedly. "Oh! I like this one!"

The thing was like a child! Easily distracted and amused with itself.

Sensing his impatience, the creature spun around to face Elijah and said, "I'mma here because I have a job for you . . . never mind the girl you're chasing. She's not going nowhere so leave that be for a bit. Focus on the missing kids. Witches are stewing. Wolves are restless. There's something in all of this you're gonna need to know."

Elijah stiffened his spine, not at all entertained by this creature's presumption. "What makes you think I give a damn about a handful of missing children? This is a human problem."

The creature snorted. "Oh, please. You've been chasing down leads all night. A little surprised you're even still awake. Aren't you tired? Shame you weren't interested until the witches got targeted but, eh," he shrugged "better late than never at all. Was it the magic that convinced you to help? A coven of pissed off and paranoid witches can cause no end of damage. Can't have that . . ."

No. This city and the secret communities within it hadn't yet healed from the last war. Another would end in catastrophe but if the witches truly believed their children were being abducted than they would retaliate. They would crush anyone they thought even might be responsible for this. And now, with the return of the Seventeen Missing humans . . . all of them dead . . . the witches had reason to be afraid. What condition would their children be when – _**if**_ – they were returned?

Elijah turned to the creature but paused before speaking. He'd been quiet too long and the creature, bored, had again shifted to Klaus' hybrid face. All yellow eyes and long, sharp fangs.

Laughing at the incredulous expression on Elijah's face, the creature said, "You want a clue to show you where to start? Ah, don't look so worried. This one's easy. Your girl has a relation everyone thinks got took along with the other kids. But _**she**_ isn't actually one of the Seventeen Missing. Her disappearance got tossed in with the others. Get it? She's not one of them! She'll help you, I think, if you can find her. And believe me, Master Vamp, she _**can**_ help."

"What relation?" Elijah demanded. Rachel had never mentioned that she was related to one of the Missing. He'd occasionally caught glimpses of grayer emotion from her. Grief. But it was so faint and fleeting that he honestly hadn't lingered of those feelings in her. They hadn't seemed strong enough to warrant any sort of attention.

The creature smirked, and again Elijah got the unsettling impression that it had read his mind. "Girl's name is Erin. Only just a few months older than your Rachel. They're cousins. Ummm, yeah. They were kinda close, like _**sisters**_ close, so be tactful when you get around to questioning Rachel about it. Wouldn't want to drive another wedge between the two of you. You're soul-mated. How the hell d'you screw up this one?"

Elijah's gaze sharpened to where the creature finally settled a bit. It looked subdued for a moment – admittedly a very strange expression on Niklaus' face – but then brightened again. Power surged, coursing through the deceptive childishness of the creature and Elijah felt the very air around them crackle with static.

"What happened to this cousin?" Elijah demanded, to turn the creature's attention away from Rachel. It seemed interested enough in her, though it wasn't too obvious in expressing its interest. It was just a feeling.

The creature shook it's head. "Really can't help you, because I really dunno. Erin's gone. Missing. Vanished. I swear that girl just blinked out or something. But look; talk to Rachel. Girl's lit up like the damned sun . . . what's with that? Maybe you can get her to talk to her ghost."

Elijah sighed. "Her ghost?"

The creature shot Elijah a look. "The spirit that follows her around . . . yeah. Her ghost. G. H. O. S. T."

Of course Rachel had a ghost. Actually, Elijah thought the creature might not be quite as truthful as it was trying to convince him. But he would talk to her. Only, not now. Her whole world had just been turned on its head and he didn't want to drive her even further away from him.

"It's all connected. All of it! Trust me, Master Vamp. You don't want to let the missing-kids-mystery slip past your attention. And for chrissake! Find the cousin."

_**CRACK-snap**_.

Lightning and currents of electric violet light sizzled and he was gone. Truly gone. Elijah coughed once, clearing the stench of static from his lungs and pulled his phone from his inside jacket pocket. Was unsurprised to find that the slim piece of plastic was melted, the interior wires and chips scorched black from the immense surge of electrical power released from the creature.

Certain that Rachel was in no immediate danger, that for all its power the creature meant no harm, Elijah left her and returned to the compound. As expected, Klaus was out but Rebekah was not. He saw his sister and she appeared to be waiting for him, standing tall and beautiful in the courtyard despite not having slept at all the previous night.

"Something happened," she said by way of greeting. "Power in the entire blasted Quarter has gone out."

"I would be more surprised if it hadn't," Elijah responded. "We, dear sister, have attracted the attention of a Trickster."

* * *

_**POV - Rachel**_

I couldn't keep my thoughts together. It's not that what I knew was too much, only that the things I knew were not possible. In the real world, the world I lived in, none of this was real. But somehow I managed to convince myself that it was all okay. Every strange, supernatural moment that should have freaked me out was just . . . accepted. I let it all roll right off as if these things were normal.

And now I stood in my father's little kitchen, staring at the white cabinets with the paint starting to chip around the edges. Sunlight shone in through the bedroom windows, not really reaching far enough to illuminate the front rooms. The radio hummed in the background. This place was real. My dad's home. I'd always been safe here.

I didn't feel safe here anymore . . .

There was salt on the floor. A ghost standing in the living room, glowering at me. A vampire outside. Since coming to this city at the written request of my missing-likely-dead cousin, I had developed the incredible ability to suspend disbelief. I could accept the impossible, so long as there was some evidence to support it. Like the demon, Rayzael. I should have been denying all of it. I should have convinced myself that I dreamed the whole thing but that would just be stupid. The glyphs on my arms and the brutal memory of my first encounter with the creature was proof enough that the demon was real.

Elijah. Vampire.

That was real, too. I'd seen him change with my own eyes. And no matter that I never once felt threatened by him before that, he scared me. My chest trembled; and it took a moment for me to recognize a swallowed sob. Sean moved, then, and I shot him a cautious glance.

He held up his hands, to show he meant nothing and said, "You really leaving him?"

Shaking my head, I turned away from the ghost and retreated to my room. My suitcase was stuffed at the bottom of the cramped closet. When I arrived, I'd hung up my clothes but it would only take a few minutes to pack everything up again. What I was looking for should still have been on the inside pocket of the denim jacket I was wearing when I first got to the city. A single plane ticket for my return flight home. From New Orleans to Seattle, with a stop in Denver where I had to change planes.

Every summer for the past four years I made the trip by myself. And I always hated that damned transfer. It meant disembarking in a strange city and trying to make my way through a bustling airport, losing my mind with nerves that I would somehow miss my connecting flight and then . . . and then what? I would be stuck in Denver, Colorado. It worried me so much that I would dream of it, sometimes. Of being lost and locked in a dark, scary airport full of unfamiliar faces and strange noises.

This time, the thought of that stopover didn't faze me at all. I just wanted to go away. Get as far from New Orleans as I could. My whole life was in Seattle. My_** mother**_ was in Seattle.

Yeah, I wanted my mommy. I wouldn't deny it. I missed my mom so, so much!

Sean had followed me into my room as I was double checking to make sure my plane ticket was still there. Exactly where I'd left it. To my immense relief, it was. I didn't need to even look at Sean to know he wasn't very happy. I could practically feel his eyes drilling holes into the back of my head.

"What?" I snapped, rounding on him.

"You're making a mistake," he said, softly. "You can't leave, Rachel."

I almost sneered, but caught myself. Instead, I got to work tugging articles of clothing off hangers and tossing them into a heap on the bed. Shirts and pants just sailed straight through Sean's spectral body and he didn't bother moving out of the way so that it wouldn't look quite so weird.

"Look, what exactly are you going to do?" Sean demanded. "Go home and then what?"

"I'm going to forget this whole ridiculous, stupid, bizarre, crazy thing ever happened," I said. "I have a life waiting for me, and I think it's time I got back to it. Rude, to leave things waiting for you . . ."

Sean didn't sound impressed. Or optimistic that I even _**could**_ go back. "Right. You're running; at least have the guts to say it out loud. Look, a soul-bond isn't something that can just be switched off or ignored, no matter how much you try to shut it out. He's a part of you now. Your _**vampire**_ is a part of you. Do you really think you'll survive a separation? In just a few days it's going to start feeling like somebody tore out your heart and ran away with it. Seriously."

I paused, a light summer blouse hanging from my suddenly numb fingers. I let the top fall to the carpet and took a deep, deep breath. I couldn't get away . . . I was trapped. Caged. There was no escape.

"I'm not trying to be cruel," Sean said softly. "But it's not only Elijah. The things following you were not bound to this city. They sought you out three thousand miles North and clear across the country. They haven't gone away, Rachel. I can sense them. They're hovering. Circling. Ah, I don't know how to explain it. They're still here. That's what I'm trying to say and if you leave, you are making yourself vulnerable to them again."

"Again?" I asked.

"They're holding themselves carefully back," Sean said. "You're under Elijah's protection and that carries quite a bit of weight. I think _**They**_ are trying to figure out how to strike at you without bringing down the full wrath of your vampire in the process. I can't say I blame them. Making Elijah vengeful would make them too stupid to breathe."

Right. I sighed. "Is Elijah really that dangerous?"

"Truthfully, yeah. Dangerous. Lethal. Absolutely unstoppable." Sean laughed. "Don't look so scared. You lucked out on this one. He's yours and he can protect you where others couldn't. You're safest right here."

"Yeah. Right," I glared at Sean. "I'm safe? Shall we list what's happened to me in this city? I got attacked and tortured by a demon in dad's living room. Got attacked and – again – nearly killed by a psychotic vampire in a grocery store. Nearly broke my neck leaping out a window to escape voices nobody else seems able to hear and, if that's not enough, I used to think those voices belonged to the people who were watching me in Seattle but lately . . . I've started to think that those voices might actually be something else. So, yeah. I just might have _**another**_ something-or-other out to get me! You hypocrite. Tell me again I'm safer in New Orleans!"

Sean stayed quiet through my little rant, sensing that I just needed to get that off my chest. To release some of the tension that had been accumulating over a period of weeks. I was breathing hard by the end of that and Sean nodded, showing he understood my concerns. I was shaking.

"What, no response?" I taunted the ghost.

"None you want to hear," he said. "I just . . ."

He paused. Glanced down, hiding his face but I thought I saw a flicker of regret in his stormy blue eyes. But before I could consider what was going on with him, he looked up again and his eyes had gone hard. He nodded towards my arms with his chin, and my heart gave a single heavy thump.

"Demon marked you," he said. "And if you believe nothing else, keep this in mind. You can't just live out the rest of your life with demon-glyphs cut into your skin. The beast will be coming for you again and what happens when it does will not be pleasant. Would you rather face the demon here, with the power and protection of Elijah standing with you . . . or alone?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I whispered, feeling my heart break into a million pieces and the weight of hopelessness settling on my shoulders. Pressing down as if to drive me to my knees.

"I'm trying to help you," Sean said. "Just stay. There's more going on than you realize and so much hinges on your presence here that . . . look, just stay awhile longer and give Elijah a chance."

That got my attention. Not Sean's assurance that I was okay with Elijah, but that Sean had slipped up and confessed something he didn't mean to. And I would have completely missed it if he hadn't immediately switched the topic back to Elijah.

What hinged on my presence here? Why was it so important that I stay in the city?

"Well, Elijah's _**brother**_ tried to choke the life out of me," I stated, really just grasping at straws now. Most of the argument had gone out of me. I slumped to sit on the edge of my bed, not caring that I was sitting on a stack of clothes that were going to wrinkle if I didn't get up off of them. No. I really could not have cared less about that.

Sean looked startled by what I'd just said. "How'd you know he's Elijah's brother?"

I heaved a sigh, "Because the vamp who tried to kill me called him his brother."

Duh.

Sean shook his head, eyes gleaming. His expression teetering between amused and impressed. "My God, Elijah's right. You _**are**_ observant. Half-suffocated and you actually picked up on that?" he laughed "How did that seem important to you while you're struggling just to breathe?"

Very aware Sean was trying to distract me, I allowed it. Let him think he could direct my attention. I said, "He'd already let me go by the time he said it, Sean. I wasn't choking."

My hands went to my own throat, though. I could still feel the steely fingers digging ruthlessly into my skin. My throat was sore; my voice a little hoarsened from the almost-strangulation. I knew I'd have ugly bruises in a few hours. I could feel them forming. How was I supposed to hide finger-shaped bruises on my neck? They weren't like the glyphs, where all I needed was to wear sleeves. Long sleeves looked weird enough during an August heat wave. No one would overlook a turtleneck or a scarf.

Bet Sean didn't think of that.

I frowned and sat up straight, turning to look out my bedroom to the kitchen. A strange, burning plastic smell pinched the inside of my nose. Sean was looking at me, and after a moment where I held perfectly still he said, "What?"

"You don't smell that?"

The ghost shot me an annoyed look. "I don't have a sense of smell. Just tell me."

I pushed off the bed and strode into the kitchen. Glanced toward the living room. The burning plastic-electrical smell seemed to be emanating from the television. Wonderful! Perfect end to the day if my dad came home to discover the TV blew up. Actually, considering everything I had on my mind right then it was almost a relief to have a problem as mundane and manageable as a blown TV to deal with. I moved into the living room, intending on unplugging the television to avoid causing a fire or something and Sean shot out of my room. He ran to the TV and planted himself right in front of it.

I froze, bemused. "What now?"

He shook his head and the TV snapped, popped and then just switched itself on. Channels flipped fast, counting down until it hit the single digits.

Channel 3.

The panicked look on Sean's face told me he wasn't doing this. There was no one else in the apartment. Creepy . . . what were the odds Sean wasn't the only ghost hanging around?

I glared at Sean. He stubbornly didn't move out from in front of the TV but it didn't matter. He was partially transparent and with the TV screen behind him lit up, the image on the screen shone clearly through his body. I could see everything.

"Crap," Sean muttered, having just realized it.

**KBVR NEWS** flashed across the screen, followed by the dramatic jingle of the station. A man in a neat gray suit sitting behind a glossy desk was saying: _"And now, Stacy Malcolm reporting live on scene!"_

The little square showing the station's logo over the man's shoulder widen, expanding to encompass the whole screen. And there stood a woman in a lavender blouse and expensive but understated gold jewelry, black hair perfectly coiffed. She looked very clean and fresh standing in front of a local business, the camera carefully angled so that we could see a huge green dumpster and yards of yellow police tape strung up just behind her.

"_Thank you, Steve. Yes, I'm standing where only months ago seventeen year old Jonathan McKinley was abducted in broad daylight. Confirmed as the sixth of what has become known as the Seventeen Missing, the body of a boy was found early this morning. Police have neither confirmed nor denied the identity of the deceased as Jonathan McKinley. However, we've received unconfirmed reports that the body is, in fact, that of the missing teenager."_

I glanced at Sean, not sure why he was trying so hard to hide the TV screen. Poor ghost was waving his hands back and forth, hoping that the double layer of his body and his arms would make it harder for me to see through him.

Sean really needed to learn subtlety. All at once, what was just said registered with me. Like puzzle pieces falling into place or a beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds to shine on a mountain peak . . . I saw it. I understood.

I didn't know Jonathan McKinley. But he was one of the Missing, and if the body _**was**_ him . . .

The Missing were back. Dropped off in the exact locations where they were originally taken from.

No. They weren't back. Their bodies had been _**returned**_ to us. It was a deliberate taunt to drop them off where these kids were snatched up, instead of just dumping the bodies in the bayou where they might never be found.

What the hell was going on in this damned City?

Oh. My. God.

Erin!

Grief and pain roared through my system. Pressure building in my head accompanied by a sharp burst of whirling dizziness. I fell down, slumping against the side of the sofa as my hands scrabbled against the tight pocket of my jeans. I pulled out my phone, struggling not to drop it as my hands shook and trembled, my arms feeling heavy and weak. I scrolled down my Contacts list. The big bold letters **ELIJAH M.** stared up at me, provoking. Daring me to tap his name and talk to him. _Elijah can help_.

No. I punched the screen over my dad's name instead.


	18. Chapter 17 - Nothing to Say

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 17**

**NOTHING TO SAY**

* * *

"Oh, Pan, dear, I can't go on! I'm so frightened – and so tired – all this way, and I'm scared to death!

I wish it was someone else instead of me, I do honestly!"

– **Lyra Belacqua/Silvertongue**

_The Golden Compass _by Philip Pullman

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

For someone who's supposed to be grounded, I just couldn't seem to stay in. I had the perfect excuse to seclude myself in my room and hide. But I was going out. Again. Only an hour after the grocery store incident. By every stretch of the imagination, I should have been too scared to leave the apartment. The bruises on my throat from where Elijah's brother tried to strangle me were really starting to ache; a stark reminder of exactly why it was in my best interest to stay put.

Having called a taxi so that I could meet my father – at the police station, of all places – I had to wonder if I was brave or just dumb. Maybe I was a little bit of both . . . the walk to Royal St. where the police station was located wouldn't have taken me very long but I didn't quite feel secure enough in my situation to risk _**walking**_ anywhere. I was stupid to dare going out but smart enough to take a cab to drive me the few blocks to where I needed to go.

I had never been this way before – there had never been any need to be here – but Royal Street was narrow. More like a lane than a road, with a jewelry store right across the street from the cop station. Good place for it, I guess. I noticed the CLOSED sign in the front window, even though it was way too early for them to be closed. But I couldn't blame the management for locking up and going home. The narrow, one-way street was a circus. I mean, it was absolutely crazy! Huge, bulky news vans parked like immovable boulders on the road. The media bustled here and there, shouting into microphones to be heard over the swell of civilian voices all around. People seemed to have converged on this little road, and they couldn't all be friends and family of the Missing. Most were just . . . people. Citizens who'd heard the news that the kids were found and now wanted answers.

Uniformed police officers were interspersed amongst the crowd, red-faced and sweaty from the heat and what looked like panic as the throng of people they were trying to keep calm surged and shouted.

It wasn't a riot. It wasn't not-a-riot, either. People were scared and confused and just wanted to know what the hell was going on!

A shiver of apprehension rolled up my spine as I scanned the crowd. Going into that would feel a lot like throwing myself into a free-for-all melee. I didn't want to be touched. I didn't want to be jostled. My nerves were shot. I just wanted to go find my dad and my aunt and be there for them.

Drawing a deep breath for strength, I moved forward. As expected I immediately got shoved by a woman trying to elbow her way through the masses. Panic swelled in my chest as I struggled to make it through the press of bodies without touching anyone. My gaze swept the street, not seeing much of anything until a little break between two large men occurred and, in that space, I spotted Sean. The ghost was standing only a few feet away, strangely lit up in a patch of sunshine as if the sun had beamed down a single ray of light just for him. A slight glitter-gleam surrounded him, shining off his soft blonde hair. Stormy blue eyes met mine and he tilted his head, inviting me closer.

_How, Sean?_ I thought.

But he was a familiar face. I moved straight for him, doing a little elbowing of my own in my haste to get out of that claustrophobic press of bodies. Following after Sean was the right decision because by going towards him I found myself leaving the worst of the crowd. He'd led me out. I smiled at the ghost, thankful for his quiet help and he smiled back. Nodded to show that I was now on the same side of the street as the police station, at least. And only a few feet away from the cop guarding the entrance.

We walked together towards the cop. She was a woman, dressed in her full uniform with her hand resting uneasily on her Taser. She didn't look like she was going to pull it out and start zapping people, so I felt it reasonably safe to approach. She probably didn't even realize where her hand was, if the scared look in her eyes was any indication. The crowds surged again, heaving and swelling like the damned surf but not actually doing anything. They didn't rush the station. Didn't leave. Didn't even really get any louder. The woman cop was young. Older than me but not by very much. Probably brand new on the force. Her hair tied neatly back to keep it out of her face, and as scared as she looked she still held herself tall. Proud of her uniform.

She was so focused on the street and the big crowd that I managed to walk right up to her before she noticed. To her credit, she didn't startle.

"I'm . . . I need to get inside!" I said, speaking loudly to be heard.

The woman offered a small smile, relieved that I wasn't part of the enraged mob, and said, "I'm sorry. Only family of the deceased is being permitted within the premises."

"But I _**am**_ family," I said. "My dad's inside already! My cousin was one of the Missing."

The woman cop looked undecided. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder; debating and I realized my mistake. I'd identified myself as a _**cousin**_, instead of a sister. Because of that, I might not qualify as the sort of family who would be allowed into the station. Cousins could be close, but I wasn't immediate family and that stung.

"Look, my dad's waiting in there with my aunt. Her daughter's one of the Missing girls. He knows I'm coming. Can I just . . . you think maybe I can be allowed in?"

The cop sighed deeply. She looked out over the crowd again, her eyes fixed on the news vans clogging the street and the people practically trampling each other while a handful of uniformed officers moved to keep things from getting out of control. It was clear the woman cop didn't want to have to deal with this skinny teenager asking for admittance while her fellow officers needed help and she was ordered to stand at her post . . . I could see the wheels turning in her head.

Make a decision.

Poor rookie cop didn't know what she was supposed to do.

"Alright," she said, shooting me a stern glare. "There will be an officer right inside. Give him your name, and if you can't find your father you're going to have to leave. Yes?"

"Yes, ma'am." I smiled my thanks and a small flicker of an answering grin crossed her face.

I stepped past as the woman cop held open the gate for me. Sean, invisible, still nodded to the policewoman as he followed me through. I glanced at him and he shrugged.

The French Quarter police station looked nothing like the stone and glass government building police precincts I was used to back home. If it wasn't for the flags out front I could easily have mistaken the building for a library or else a pretty museum.

Three stone steps led up to the front door, beneath an overhang supported by smooth, round pillars. The front face of the two story building was painted in lovely peach. A cheerful color accented with white around the windows. Ferns and shrubs grew thick and green in the slight yard between the gate and the house. The front door was actually a glass and wood double-door that opened into a crowded but still somehow home-like foyer. Yes, an actual foyer. Not a lobby.

Police in uniform scurried everywhere, some carrying papers or boxes. Others were speaking with family members of the Missing who were clustered together. Police in plain-clothes were careful to keep their badges in full view either pinned to their shirts or hanging off their belts. It was important for people to immediately recognize who the cops were.

I hesitated in the doorway, looking around and at first I couldn't see my dad. He was one of those people who were standing, and the reason I missed him is that he was half shielded by the body in his arms. I walked forward – there was no cop stationed at the door for me to give my name to – and saw that the body was that of a woman. My aunt, my dad's sister . . . Erin's mom. She was clinging to my dad, crying. Great, wracking sobs that shook her whole body and caused sympathy-tears to sting in my eyes. Her pain and grief were so great that despite that full body crying she made very little noise. There was no crying out. No screaming or wailing. She hurt too badly to make sounds.

My dad glanced up and spotted me, holding awkwardly back. I didn't want to interrupt.

He offered a slight, not-really-there smile and I took a few more small steps forward.

"They just told us," he said to me.

My aunt's head came up and she turned in my dad's arms to see me standing there. I really didn't know what to do. What to say. I was so out of my element I half wanted to just turn around and run away. But I didn't do that, either.

My aunt's face was red and white, blotchy. A mess of wet tears and sagging skin. She looked like she'd aged a century. She looked broken. Grief tearing at her from the inside. She wobbled a little bit, weakened and exhausted from the expulsion of so much raw emotion, and then lurched forward. I stiffened but she only threw her arms around my shoulders and held me tight. Very tight. She crushed me to her body, holding me as if I could somehow bring her closer to her lost daughter. Me. The one person in the world Erin had trusted above all others.

My own pain erupted, then. Feeling her mother trembling against me, the strength in her grip as she held me so tight it was hard to breathe through her hold. My heart broke open and I allowed a small gasp to escape. Hot liquid trickled over my cheeks and I realized that I was crying. I hadn't cried for Erin. Not once since she was found missing but being in her mother's arms was too much. I couldn't keep those walls up anymore and the grief and fear, of Erin's disappearance and my own confusion of the events of these past few weeks just flowed over. Like a cup being overfilled. All this emotion just flowed over the sides and then I couldn't stop it.

I cried.

And I felt no shame.

"She's not back. They didn't find her," my aunt moaned into my ear. "My baby. Why wouldn't they give her back? Why didn't they give her back to me?"

My aunt may have said more but the words were lost in a flurry of heaving sobs and hiccups.

I was struggling to pull myself back together. My aunt wasn't making it easy, as it would have been so simple to just succumb to the grief and pain. I could join her in that dark place, but I knew that _**I**_ couldn't do that. I didn't have the luxury. From over her shoulder, I could see Sean looking left and right. Bewildered by . . . something. Up until that moment, he'd been standing perfectly still. Careful not to draw my attention. Respectful in his silence as I stood with my family and grieved. But his sudden distraction brought me back to the moment.

My aunt had been sweating and crying for a while, now. And I focused on that to help me focus. I wouldn't blame her but she smelled bad. Sour. Her deodorant and whatever perfume she'd been wearing completely worn off. It worked. I breathed her in and felt my mind sharpen. It was still hard to push all that grief back behind the walls I'd built up inside, but I felt a little steadier. More myself. There was a pressure in my chest that made it feel as if my heart would burst but that faded fairly quickly as I swallowed my tears and kept breathing. Calming down.

I disengaged from my aunt's chokehold embrace. She blinked, confused and dazed. Not really seeing me. I kept her hands in mine, holding on for a second. Her fingers were icy cold. Her bones so light. So breakable. She'd grown fragile these past few months, and suddenly, I believed that old story that a person could die from a broken heart. My aunt was withering away. The pain of not knowing what had happened to her only daughter and now, with all the other stolen kids returned she didn't even have the comfort of a body to bury.

Again, I was swamped by this feeling of confusion. I didn't know what to say. What would be appropriate right now? I wanted to make it better. I couldn't.

My dad put one heavy hand on my shoulder and gave a short squeeze. Support, I guess. He seemed able to sense the position I was in. I closed my eyes, sighed, and then looked quickly around for my invisible ghost. Sean had vanished.

Startled, I pulled away a little bit to scan the front foyer of the police station. The families of other Missing kids were huddling in little groups. There were lots of wet, teary faces. Lots of angry and confused glances. Some people sat numbly in chairs, as if all the energy had just gone out of them. Some people moved slow and sluggishly, tired and worn out with grief just like my aunt while others were the complete opposite. Quick, furtive gestures. Too fast. Too aggressive. Those were the ones who'd given up on the grief and were now just mad.

My aunt was on the verge of falling to pieces again. I looked helplessly at my dad.

"Go get some air," he said to me. "I think we'll be here a while."

Grateful and feeling awful that I was, I retreated. Losing myself by walking deeper into the police station. I slipped quietly around the huddled groups of grieving families and I swear, the pain was so thick on the air I could taste it. Bitter and hot on my tongue.

Why would Sean come all the way here with me just to up and vanish? I made it all the way to the far wall, and the sidled up against the painted plaster. I kept my eyes lowered, staring at the carpet. The only safe place to look. I felt like the worst kind of creeper, invading other people's privacy by watching them at their most vulnerable. Nobody likes knowing someone is watching them while they cry.

I shouldn't have come, I decided. I should have stayed in the apartment. What exactly did I think I was going to do, here? I was so caught up in my own internal musings, my own discomfiture that it wasn't until I caught a whiff of cologne that I even noticed two men had edged in close on either side of me. I stood straight, shooting sharp looks both ways. Not enjoying the sensation of being flanked and a little startled because they seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

They were both cops in full uniform. One, a broad-shouldered man who seemed to fill out his uniform a little too well. Muscle, though. Not fat. The other was a slimmer man, a little older than the first with hair cut militarily short. Buzz cut? Crew cut? Well, one of those.

"I'm officer Bell," buzz-cut said. "This is my partner, officer Goring. May we have a word?"

I just kept from outright frowning at him. I did, however, cast another quick look around. Hoping that Sean would be there but he wasn't. My ghost was gone and I felt very . . . alone.

"Sure," I said, trying to sound innocent. I hadn't done anything.

"In private," officer Bell instructed, holding out a hand to direct me to follow.

I did what I was told; walking in the direction indicated and felt a jolt of uneasy surprise when he placed his hand against the small of my back. Officer Bell led, while officer Goring fell in just behind. I could feel his eyes on me while we walked. I fixed my gaze on officer Bell, staring at the space between his shoulders. His uniform looked very new. The fabric smooth and clean.

He led me out of the main foyer and we started down a narrow, faintly lit corridor.

I was so uncomfortable that I almost – almost – reached for Elijah over our bond. But I didn't do that. Our bond was strong, I could sense him out in the quarter but he wasn't thinking about me at all at that moment. I didn't want to bother him. I certainly didn't want to have to explain why I was reaching for the comfort of his presence when I only just told him to leave me alone. Hell, I'd run from him!

"Here," officer Bell instructed, opening a door for me. He stood back, allowing me to enter the room first. My heart thumped at the wrongness of the situation but I obeyed. Again. I did as I was told and entered the little room. Took a seat at a steel table bolted to the floor. The chair was uncomfortably hard and as I sat, I noticed the loops in the chair legs. The hard bar attached to the table.

For a moment, I was confused. But then I realized what they were for. Handcuffs. To tie prisoners down so that they wouldn't leap across the table and attack or whatever.

A cold chill crawled up my neck as I looked across at the rectangular mirror set in one wall. Two-way glass.

Was there anybody on the other side? I couldn't tell, of course, but I fervently hoped so. Witnesses. And why did I suddenly feel that I would be safer if there were witnesses? Maybe because the two officers had very deliberately led me _**away**_ from other people. To "talk". I looked up at officer Goring as Bell took a seat across from me.

Bell tapped the butt end of a pen on the table, cracking loudly in the quiet room.

Was I actually in an interrogation room? My head spun.

Officer Bell smiled coolly. "Well. Here were are."

"Here we are," I agreed, swallowing to moisten my dry throat. Didn't work. I felt parched.

"I just have a few quick questions," Bell said "and then you can go."

I fidgeted. Bell noticed. I immediately slipped my hands beneath the table and held still. "Um, shouldn't my dad be here?"

Bell blinked, like it hadn't even occurred to him. "Why would you need your father? You're not under arrest."

No, but . . .

"I don't think . . . questioning me without my dad around is legal."

I wouldn't be eighteen for another few months. So technically I was still a minor.

Goring grinned. Bell just shook his head.

"You watch too much television," Goring said, speaking for the first time. His voice wasn't as deep as I thought it would be, coming from such a heavily muscled man. "If you were a suspect in a crime, this would be different. But we only need to ask you some questions. If that's alright?"

I honestly didn't know if that was true or not! I faltered, bewildered, and said, "Okay. I guess."

"It won't take long," Bell assured me. "We're trying to understand how come your cousin wasn't returned to the city along with the other sixteen Missing."

My heart was hammering in my chest. Beating so hard and fast it was making me a little dizzy. Again, I considered calling out to Elijah. But I wasn't in any real danger. Not yet. If I played it cool I could get out of this myself.

"How can I help with any of that?" I asked. "I don't know why they didn't find Erin's b-body."

I stumbled a little. I could think the words but it was so hard to actually say it out loud.

"Well, no. Of course not," Bell allowed. Another cold smile. "But maybe you can tell us about her behavior from before she was taken. Did she maybe . . . confide something with you? Anything at all. Something she saw or heard? Any suspicions? Anything you might have thought was peculiar. Out of character for her."

Not exactly subtle, was he?

"Not really," I said. So long as I understood the game, I could play too. So I defaulted to ordinary clueless teenager. A little light in the head, maybe. To lower Bell and Goring's guard. If they didn't think much of my intelligence, they wouldn't probe too deeply for whatever it was they thought I might know.

"How about any strange parcels? Packages she might have sent over?" My mind flashed to the letter Erin had mailed me. I shut the thought down the second I had it, not wanting them to see it in my face. "It would have come through the mail."

I sighed for effect and crossed my legs. "Look, guys. She didn't say anything. Didn't send me stuff. I really don't know what I could tell you. _**I don't know**_ what happened to my cousin."

"Uh, huh." Bell pulled a small leather-bound notepad from a pocket and made a production out of clicking his pen. I squirmed a bit as he jotted down a few things in the notepad. Oh, was I ever tempted to lean forward and see what he was writing!

"So, did you find your cousin had become distant prior to her disappearance?" Bell asked, without looking up. His pen continued to move, the tip sliding smoothly over the paper.

Had Erin gotten distant? Now that he mentioned it, yeah. She had. I didn't notice, really, but she stopped calling. I would get the occasional text but I hadn't actually _**spoken**_ with her in a while before she vanished. That confused me and both officers saw it. They were reading too much from me because I was giving too much away. Frustrated with myself, feeling totally unbalanced after the stress of the day, I sat back in my chair and fixed a stare on Bell.

"Alright. Rachel. May I call you Rachel?" Bell said. I nodded and he went on, "Rachel, there is really only one thing we need to know. It's important, so think back. Think _**hard**_."

Well, didn't that sound dramatic.

I said, "What do you need?"

And depending on what he said, I might actually answer honestly.

"We believe that your cousin Erin may have sent you an object," Bell informed me. "It would have been very small. But it could lead to us finding Erin. You want that, don't you? You want to help us find Erin. You're aunt would certainly love to have her daughter returned to her. Can you help us? Did Erin send you anything?"

I stared, made a face and then looked quickly over at Goring. The only thing I received from Erin was that letter I still couldn't figure out. If she did send something else, it might be lost in the mail. But she'd disappeared months and months ago . . . if it _**was**_ lost, then I probably wouldn't ever get it.

I certainly hadn't missed the not-so-subtle maneuvering. The repeated use of Erin's first name. The heartless use of my aunt's loss to coerce me into confessing the truth. They were trying to guilt me into betraying any secrets Erin might have trusted me with.

"Guys," I said, trying for ignorant. "I really don't know what you expect from me. Now, I really should get back out to my dad. I was kinda told to stick close."

Bell nodded as if he understood, but that cold smiled was just creepy. "Of course. Just a few more things."

Well, yeah. Of course _'just a few more'_ questions. I just managed to keep from rolling my eyes.

"Can you account for your whereabouts last night?"

Uh, last night? I fell asleep in Elijah's bed. Had a terrifying nightmare of getting my throat torn out only to discover the very next day that the guy was a vampire . . . irony. Coincidence? Whatever.

"Why does it matter what _**I**_ was doing?" I asked Bell directly. "Aren't you guys looking for Erin?"

"Please, answer the question," Goring said sharply. He was standing directly in front of the door. Because that wasn't creepy.

"Last night," I hesitated, as if trying to remember. "I went out."

"Went out where?" Bell demanded, pen poised over his little notepad.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Nowhere, really. I wandered around for a while. Looked at things. I didn't end up anywhere in particular."

Goring looked skeptical. Bell just looked blank. "All night?"

"Well, kinda," I said with a laugh. "Or late, anyway. I got in trouble for it!"

The two men exchanged glances.

"Is that it?" I asked. "Can I go?"

Bell heaved a sigh and flipped his little notebook shut. "I suppose. For now."

Oh, I so did not miss that last part. I stiffened but Goring only added, "You will call us, won't you? If you remember anything."

"Of course!" I said.

Goring opened the door, holding it for me like Bell did before. They escorted me back to the front foyer still teeming with people. They let me walk away, but stayed to watch as I headed straight towards my dad and aunt. Sitting now by the front windows. I could feel their eyes boring into me, heavier with each step I took. My dad saw me right away and smiled. I collapsed into his arms, shaking so hard I even started to cry.


	19. Chapter 18 - Klaus

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _This chapter is being dedicated to Monkey-gone-to-Heaven. :) A loyal reader, great friend . . . and someone who has almost frightening faith in my ability to write this story! She's never gotten frustrated with me for sending her spoilers, despite the fact that she's reading this story at the same rate as everyone else. Yeah, she knows what's up with Klaus – or at least, she knows some of what's going on with him. I've sworn her to secrecy! haha_

_That said, I'm a loyal friend too. Her story __**Welcome Home, Nikita Grace**__ (Teen Wolf) is giving my 'A Red Sun Rises' a run for its money in originality. And I have enough confidence in myself not to mind admitting it! :D I started Beta-ing her fic around her chapter 25 and she's gotten so good that at this point, I don't know why she even still thinks of me as a Beta. -_- I read her stuff looking for typos, now. That's about it. BUT I wouldn't Beta for it – or her – if I didn't believe in her ability to spin a great story._

_If anyone's interested in a Teen Wolf fanfic, I highly recommend this one. Heaven's taken the story spun it into gold._

_Enjoy!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 18**

**KLAUS**

* * *

"When things break, it's not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again.

It's because a little piece gets lost – the two remaining ends couldn't fit together even if they wanted to.

The whole shape has changed."

– **John Green**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

The others were returned to the exact location from which they were initially taken. And so Elijah would start there, in his search to uncover what had happened to Rachel's unfortunate cousin. The police had kept a record of where these kids were last seen. Erin's abduction had been particularly bold. She was taken in the early evening as she was returning home, snatched off the street directly in front of the small Inn where she lived with her mother.

The circumstances of these abductions troubled Elijah as much now as they had months ago when they started. More than the rapid frequency of the kidnappings or the absence of anything even resembling a pattern. It was the suddenness with which these children were taken. So fast it was as if they would pass behind a telephone pole and never make it to the other side. Those who were taken simply seemed to vanish into the air. There was the sense of something supernatural on the hunt, though no evidence of exactly what the hunter might be.

Elijah would have liked to enter the Inn and investigate further and was irritated to find that he could not. It was a privately owned home – owned by Rachel's aunt – who only rented rooms out. Technically not a public building therefore he would need an invitation from either the aunt or Erin herself to cross the threshold. And that irritated him to no end. There was nothing for Elijah to see on the street.

He _**did**_ think to question his own motivation for doing this. He didn't trust the Trickster, though he sensed some truth in what the creature had told him. It felt important that he at least learn what he could of the missing girl . . . Elijah had begun to consider that it was because of Erin's connection to Rachel that made him so eager to help, rather than the warning offered by the Trickster. Why hadn't Rachel told him about her cousin? Because she had believed Elijah to be only a man with no more power than any other human, of course. She said nothing because to her mind, there was nothing he could do. But there was. And if turning his considerable power and influence to finding this missing girl is what it took to show his soul-mate that he would be there for her; more, that he would protect her and also her family . . . then Elijah was perfectly willing to do whatever it took to find this girl he had never even seen before.

His thoughts turned briefly to Rachel, brushing her mind so lightly that she was not even aware of the contact. He found himself doing that often, unnerved by their simple separation. It was as if the moment he knew he could not seek her out, that he would have to wait however long was necessary for Rachel to return to him, his very soul had begun to tremble at her loss. She wasn't gone but it _**felt**_ as if she was. So he would touch her thoughts periodically throughout the day just to assure himself she was even still alive. Elijah understood it was ridiculous. He also understood there was no point in resisting the impulse to check on her and so he didn't.

As if his thoughts had conjured her, he saw Rachel slip quietly out of the shadowed alley next to the Inn. The very same alley where they first met, days ago. A lifetime ago. Had it really only been days?

She was simply stunning, standing in the bright afternoon sun. Light shining golden in her brown hair. A warm wind lifting strands of it off her neck. She was tall, her back straight. Chin parallel to the ground. A proud stance. Self-assured. Her clear silver eyes more like glass than ice, making that lovely ring of warm amber around her pupils all the more significant. Fire. Always, he though, there was fire in her.

However, as stunning as she was he looked at her and felt only emptiness. No warmth. No tug in his chest, to draw him closer to his soul-mate. Elijah almost sighed, exasperated. He moved towards the Trickster sensing that the creature wished to speak. Why else would it have chosen a form guaranteed to draw Elijah's immediate attention? It was a good choice . . . if one intended to set a trap.

_**WHAM!**_

Elijah was flung! He was thrown straight into the shadowed alley, so distracted by the appearance of the Trickster that he'd been completely blindsided. He didn't see what struck him. Elijah tumbled, rolling over the filthy asphalt and sprang to his feet in a blur of supernatural speed. He was caught by surprise but he was not unprepared to retaliate and now, he was furious. He spun, fangs bared as he fixed on his attacker.

"Niklaus," Elijah spat. He should have expected this after having beaten him so easily before. In fact, retaliation from Klaus was so unsurprising that the sight of his brother facing him with eyes blazing menacing gold didn't so much as cause Elijah to pause. The Trickster had vanished, evaporating as if the creature never existed. Elijah rounded on his brother.

He did not wait for Klaus to strike again. Elijah lunged, moving slower than he was actually able and Klaus met him squarely. Unafraid. Equally enraged, if the roar torn from his throat was any indication. Klaus struck him with a closed fist, knuckles cracking across Elijah's face. Only rather than take the hit, Elijah moved with it. He spun so that the majority of Klaus' force slid right off, counting on Klaus' momentum to carry the hybrid forward just enough . . . allowing Elijah to ram his elbow in the space between Niklaus' shoulders. He could have driven his elbow into the hollow at the base of his skull, effectively snapping the spine which would leave his brother unconscious for the time it took his body to heal. The thought even occurred to him but Elijah decided against it.

Killing Klaus – even temporarily – was not conductive to calming him down and Elijah's desire to question his brother overshadowed his need to get even with him.

Klaus tumbled forward, Elijah's strength matching his own. If Elijah had an equal anywhere in the world it was his own brother. That's what made their battles legendary. Neither was truly capable of surpassing the other. But this was not the time or even the place for a drawn-out fight. They were in an alley, with the bustle and noise of crowded streets on either end. Too many people to witness what they were doing, the brutal speed with which both could move. Now if only he could break through his brother's rage long enough to make Klaus aware of this.

Where Elijah's shove should have driven the hybrid into the wall, Niklaus was fast enough to use Elijah's own strength to propel himself forward and back. He kicked off the wall, springing off the bricks with strength enough to shatter them. A starburst of cracks rippling out from a centre. Concussive force. Much more than was needed but Klaus was angry.

Elijah avoided the tackle with a short burst of speed and Klaus sailed harmlessly past, moving so fast that he nearly impaled himself on a bar of discarded iron stacked across from them. Elijah didn't waste time. He turned on the hybrid, grabbing Klaus by the back of his throat and driving him into the side of a large green dumpster. His brother's body bending the side, nearly ripping holes in the thick steel as the metal contorted around him.

Panting, hurt but not seriously, Klaus finally stopped fighting. His eyes gleamed hot gold, flaring even brighter for just a moment before fading to their natural cool blue. All the fight going out of him. His way of saying he'd had enough, without needing to lower himself by speak the words out loud.

"What's the matter with you?" Elijah demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing," Klaus shot out. "Losing your mind over a girl. Attacking me, your own brother! For what? I've done worse without getting a rise out of you."

And that was all it took.

Elijah felt an unfamiliar rage swell in him at the reminder. It was only the second time he experienced the emotion. The first came the moment Klaus struck at Rachel and Elijah hadn't enjoyed the sensation then, either. The only word he could think to call it was _**black**_. No one – _**no one **_– threatened his soul-mate and lived. He truly believed he was capable of murdering his brother to protect her and knowing it terrified him. For his own sake . . . Klaus would need to stay away from her. Is this what a soul-bond did? It had always felt so subtle, so elusive but natural and perfect. He hadn't considered how binding that bond could be. How it would master him.

"You started this," Elijah said slowly, struggling to contain his fury. His black rage. "You came for her."

Klaus laughed then. He wiped at a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth with the back of his hand and rose, climbing down from the curve of the dumpster. He stood straight, unapologetic and faced Elijah. He got close, right up into his Elijah's face and curled a lip in a small sneer. "You have no idea what I wanted from her, do you? No clue."

"Niklaus, I swear," Elijah snarled, scarcely able to contain himself. He would later credit his restraint to centuries of doing exactly that – controlling himself – because he wanted to rip out his brother's throat. "If you move against her again, I'll –"

"– yes, yes," Klaus cut him off. "I know. I figured it out the second you arrived to rescue the little mortal. What else could set you off like that? Look at you. You're barely holding yourself together as it is."

Elijah didn't deny it. How was it even possible that something as rare as a soul-mate could become so obvious to those around him? He knew what it was because he was a part of it. But to Klaus? It should never have even occurred to him. Muscle coiled beneath Elijah's skin. Again, he had to smother the impulse to do something he would later regret. Or at least to throw a punch and have the satisfaction of hearing the crunch of bone. He didn't know if Niklaus being aware of the soul-bond put Rachel in more or less danger.

It maddened him, not knowing for sure.

Klaus must have read some of what Elijah was thinking in his expression. He knew his brother – knew how far to push . . . and this was it. The limit of Elijah's endurance if the murder in his eyes was any indication. Klaus wisely withdrew, taking a few steps back to give Elijah room to breathe.

"It's not what you think," Klaus said evenly. "I didn't intend to hurt her."

"But you did." Not mortally but still . . . she _**had**_ been harmed.

"It's not what you think," Klaus said again. He met Elijah's gaze, unflinching. "I had only meant to see her for myself. This slip of a human girl who could so fascinate you, of all people. I didn't become aware of the soul-bond until after I had her."

"You took her," Elijah pointed out. "You snatched her away and terrorized her. How was that not deliberate, Niklaus?"

Elijah saw something in his brother's expression, then, and it worked to cool his mounting fury. Confusion. It was only a flicker of uncertainty, there and gone so quickly he couldn't be sure he even saw it. But that look. It gave him pause.

"She stirred something in me," Klaus admitted. He glanced at Elijah, startled by his own confession. As if he hadn't meant to say the words but more . . . he hadn't known it until he said them. "Believe me, brother. I meant no harm when I sought her out."

Now that Klaus was speaking, and it appeared as if Elijah would listen it became very clear that Klaus very much _**needed**_ to talk. Standing next to a reeking dumpster in the same alley – nearly the exact spot – where Elijah and Rachel met and were bound, Klaus said something that extinguished what was left of Elijah's fury.

"Something's been messing with my head," Klaus stated. He drew a breath and pressed two fingers to the side of his head. "Something, Elijah. Something in _**here**_ isn't where it's supposed to be. I saw your girl, I saw her and it shook something loose."

Elijah narrowed his eyes. Suspecting manipulation but his brother appeared too distracted to be playing any sort of game. Klaus' eyes darkened as he sank deeper into his thoughts. Searching his memories.

"What came loose?" Elijah asked.

"Nothing," Klaus said. "A hole. The sight of your girl punched a hole in what feels like a wall inside me. I've been compelled, Elijah, and that is not possible. There's a wall in my mind, cutting me off from whatever is on the other side and it nearly drove me mad. I _**want**_ what's been hidden from me."

Klaus bit off the word, fury rising in him. Elijah didn't move, knowing the anger was directed elsewhere. Niklaus was right. Originals were immune to compulsion. It was a frightening thought. The one who did it would be inconceivably powerful to have accomplished such a thing. It made Elijah just as interested in what was on the other side of that barrier as Klaus was. What did his brother know that had so desperately needed to be forgotten?

"I didn't even notice it was there until your girl loosened it for me," Klaus was saying. "It wasn't until then that I knew. I recognized that I'd been compelled but more than that; I know whatever was done to me broke something."

Elijah narrowed his eyes, curious and cautious. Inviting his brother to explain.

"I'm not myself," Klaus admitted, struggling to explain. There were no words. He couldn't say exactly what was different. He could feel it inside of him, churning, but he couldn't say exactly where the change was. He couldn't name it.

"Niklaus," Elijah said with a sigh.

"Look at you," the hybrid snapped with renewed fury. Whatever was done to him was out of Klaus' control and it scared him more than he would ever dare admit. "I should be jealous. I should be maddened by what you've got. You have what I've always wanted. Companionship. A bond that can never be broken or stolen away. By every right I should despise your girl for belonging to you instead of me. Elijah, my noble brother. My perfect brother. The Universe has seen fit to gift you with a soul-mate. The injustice of it . . . why, then, am I _**not**_ jealous of you? Why is it that I feel no animosity for this girl when I know with every part of me that I would have?"

Klaus may have felt he was losing his mind, or else a part of himself but Elijah wasn't quite so certain. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, digging his fingers into Klaus' jacket and spun Niklaus around to face him. Power swelled within Elijah. A current that was part will, part intention. He stared into Klaus' cool blue eyes and . . . Elijah's power slammed into an invisible barrier. Equal force repelling his attempt to break into Klaus' mind.

Niklaus recognized what Elijah had attempted to do, and shook off Elijah's hands. Annoyed.

Elijah hadn't seriously thought that he could compel his brother. The Originals had never been able to compel each other before. Not once in a thousand years. But that hadn't been the purpose of Elijah's little experiment. He only wanted to know if he were suddenly _**able**_. But no. Whatever had been done to Klaus had not weakened his mind and that, at least, was good. The Original Hybrid remained immune to mind control even though something had clearly already broken through. A command had been planted. To forget, as Klaus suspected? Or something more?

That opened the door to another question. Klaus hadn't been lying. Elijah knew his brother, knew his moods. His temperament. He knew Klaus so well that Elijah's goal these past few days hadn't been to protect Rachel. It had been to keep her _**away**_ from Niklaus. Why? Because Elijah had known without any doubt at all that the Original Hybrid would be murderously angry when he discovered the truth of Rachel's identity. Without realizing that's what he was doing, Elijah had been preparing himself to fight for her life . . .

What had his brother been told – what happened to him – for Klaus to feel nothing when Elijah won through _**fate**_ the one thing that his brother would have wanted more than anything?


	20. Chapter 19 - From the Inside

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ This chapter is dedicated to Monkey-gone-to-Heaven. I really love our brainstorming sessions, no matter whose story we're discussing. Mine or yours. Something you said the other day inspired the small everyday humor in the Rachel part of this chapter. The breadknife! Haha (Okay, that part was me. But no, really! You gave me the idea to lighten things a bit. Especially after the tension of the last few chapters.)_

**Chapter 19**

**FROM THE INSIDE**

* * *

Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest

of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

– **twilight**

by _Stephanie Meyer_

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I woke to the busy _**whoosh**_ing of rain on the window-glass of my little room. The air inside was still hot and stuffy – my window had been left closed all week – but rolling over in the bed while the sheets tangled around my legs I looked out at the gray square that was my window and felt an immediate relief. Rain like that meant the sweltering summer heatwave had finally broken. It was over.

A little dizzy from the stuffy dryness of the air in my room, I climbed out of bed and staggered to the window. Lifted the heavy panel, securing the window with a hook to keep it from slamming down again while damp air swept into my room in a flurry of refreshing cold that prickled over my hot skin. The breeze was so strong it lifted my hair off my shoulders, sweeping it back so that the wind could dance over the back of my neck; drying the sweat there. Laughing, delighted by the silky sensation of the damp air I shook my head and spread my arms wide. Fingers reaching for the walls on either side of me. For the first time in days I felt . . . okay. I felt a small trickle of optimism bubbling in my chest and it was a feeling I hadn't realized I missed.

It felt good to feel good again.

Had the heat really been that bad? Had it been the heat that dragged so heavily, pulling me down? Wearing me out. Things had seemed pretty hopeless before, and nothing had changed since yesterday. I was still caught up in the drama and mystery of a missing cousin on one side and a brand new soul-bond to a vampire on the other. A vampire with a brother who possibly wanted me dead. A demon out there somewhere.

And hell . . . a missing ghost, of all things. I hadn't seen Sean since he disappeared on me at the police station yesterday.

But the rain, dreary gray and wet and cold . . . as far as I was concerned, it was a beautiful day. I shook out my hair again, letting the wind pass through the heavy strands and opted to leave my window open for a while. Let it rain inside. I'd clean up the mess later.

I went to wash and discovered that the change in the weather was not the only surprise waiting for me that morning. Stepping out of my bedroom straight into the kitchen, dressed only in what I'd slept in – shorts and an old t-shirt – I stopped and stared at the mound of plastic shopping bags stacked on my dad's little dinner table. The bags were stamped with the name of a local dollar store in bright yellow print. My shower could wait. Those had not been there when I climbed into bed the night before. Granted, I was exhausted so I went to sleep relatively early but still . . . what could my dad possibly have bought at a dollar store that would require _**so many**_ bags?

With only my fingers, I tipped the side of one of the bags so that I could peek inside and actually blinked. Surprised by what was there. Packets of lined paper. That's it. Maybe ten packets altogether, each one with the words 200-sheets printed on the front. Paper.

I jerked open the top of a second bag and found a bunch of generic spiral notebooks beneath a packet of ballpoint pens and a box of pencils. A three-pack of pink erasers.

The third bag. Three-ring binders.

Fourth bag. A simple black and yellow backpack.

Cold realization hit me all at once. Wasn't hard to figure out these were school supplies.

"Sean!" I called, hoping the ghost was around even if I couldn't see him. I waited, holding my breath but he didn't appear.

I never said it in so many words, but I sort of agreed to stay in New Orleans. For a little while longer, at least. But I hadn't mentioned my decision to my dad . . . or anyone. With the return of the Missing the day before and everything that had gone on from there everything else had just slipped my mind. I comforted my aunt. Had that spooky encounter with the two cops. Went back to comforting my aunt. Got home and really just dropped into my bed. Too tired to do anything else. I was out like a light. There hadn't been time to talk. To think.

I was supposed to have been on a plane bound for home. _**Yesterday**_. Clearly, I'd missed my flight. If I'd actually thought about it I would have credited my dad's total lack of recall that I was leaving and would need a ride to the airport on the stress of day. The shock of Erin being the only kid Taken but not returned and his need to be there for his sister while she grieved the loss of her daughter. His niece. My cousin. With all that, I could accept that maybe he just forgot that I was supposed to be on a plane that evening. But seeing all this stuff, supplies for school, made me suddenly wonder if my dad _**already**_ believed I wasn't going home. And that worried me a bit . . .

"Dad!" I shouted.

A moment later my dad lumbered out of his room, fully dressed but only one step up from sleepwalking. There were heavy bags under his eyes. His hair hadn't been combed yet making it look like he'd only just rolled out of bed. He looked at me, blinked and glanced at the coffee machine. Set on a timer, it was already gurgling as it slowly filled the large glass pot. Drip by drip. My dad heaved a sigh and turned back to me.

"D'you have breakfast yet?"

"What's all this?" I asked, ignoring his question. Gesturing at the plastic bags on the table, being careful not to outright point at them.

"School's starting in a few days," he said, as if I should have known that already. I did know that. But that's not what I meant. Dad went on, "Can't start classes with nothing. Ummm, lunches. You need stuff for lunches . . ."

I stared at him.

Dad look back at me, his eyes going blank. "What do you want for lunches?"

"Food," I muttered. "I usually have food for lunch."

My dad must have been waking up because he actually smiled, amused by my grouchiness.

"You know, you can't just decide I'm staying here," I burst out. "What's mom think of this?"

Oh, jeez. Mom! She would have been expecting me home. Did she have any idea I'd missed my flight? Did dad at least think to tell her I wasn't coming? I certainly hadn't!

"Your mother has no problem with you staying here," he mumbled, sitting down at the table with a heavy sigh.

I stared. "Well, no. But mom only agreed to a week! I think she was sorta expecting me back at some point!"

Dad said, "This was your _**mom's**_ idea, Rachel. Eggs. I can make eggs for breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Wait, what?" This was . . . my head was spinning. "Mom wants me to stay here . . . for how long?"

"Until graduation, I think," my dad said. He raked his fingers through his hair, messing it even more.

"And you're okay with this?"

"I don't mind," he said. He sounded a little hurt, like he thought I didn't want to be here with him. Like he was a crappy dad or something. No. That is not what I was thinking. I was thinking this was insane . . . and kinda convenient. For Sean to point out that I shouldn't leave New Orleans and now to learn that it had already been set up. I was staying. I shot my dad a suspicious glance, and turned to go back into my room.

My phone. I dropped to my knees on the carpet by the bed and tugged my phone out of yesterday's jeans – which were crumpled in a heap where I'd dropped them last night. I folded my legs under myself and sat down, holding the phone with both hands as I scrolled through my Contacts for my mom's number. Just like before, my eyes lingered over Elijah's name but I stubbornly refused to call him.

I called my mom, figuring a quick text wouldn't quite cut it. I needed to hear her voice, and I wanted her to hear mine. The phone rang in my ear. Five rings before she answered.

"Hello?" her voice came to me, from clear across the country, sounding groggy and annoyed. I winced, only just remembering that Seattle, Washington . . . was three hours behind New Orleans, Louisiana. She would have been asleep.

"Mom," I said.

I head a sigh and a bouncy squeak as if my mom had rolled over in bed. In my mind, I could imagine the soft glow of her bedside lamp coming on. The heavy, thick comforter I used to love sinking into as a kid folding over as she sat up. The pictures on the walls of her room and the little pink elephant figurine on her bedside table, usually right next to the folded pages of the paperback my mom would read before sleep. My heart swelled with warmth and cold. Homesickness. I missed my mom! And I hadn't even realized how much until right that second. Until the moment I heard her voice.

"Rachel," my mom said softly. "What's wrong?"

I'd been quiet for too long. She sounded worried.

"N-nothing," I said. "Just . . . I missed my flight last night. Thought you should know I'll be late coming home."

A test. My passive-aggressive way of gauging where my mom stood on my unexpected relocation to New Orleans.

"Oh, sweetie," my mom laughed in my ear. She had a pleasant laugh. Tinkling. It was one I always really enjoyed listening to. "Don't worry about it. I thought your dad would have told you . . . you'll be staying with him."

My stomach lurched. "For how long?"

"Until graduation, at least," she told me. A chill crawled up the back of my neck. Was it coincidence that she'd used the exact same phrase my dad did? "I think it'll be good for you, to spend some time with your father. You don't see nearly enough of him as it is."

I swallowed hard. Cleared my throat a little bit. Searched my mind for something to say but just ended up blurting out the first thing that came to me, "I can't . . . I can't start my senior year in a new school. In a whole other town!"

Mom laughed again. "Oh, Rachel. You'll be fine."

"Senior. Year." I said again, punctuating the words. "You can't start over in your senior year!"

"Yes, you can," she instead. "And you will, Rachel. You've never had a hard time making friends. You'll graduate the most popular girl in you class, you'll see."

Yeah. Because high school popularity has always been very important to me. I rolled my eyes, knowing no one would see it. I wouldn't have dared do that if my mom were standing right in front of me.

"Mom . . ." I tried again, forcing as much pleading as I could into my voice. "I want to come home."

She stood firm in her decision.

"I'll see you at Christmas," she promised. "And you can call me whenever you like. Now, I've got to go. I need to be up in an hour! Love you."

She hung up.

She actually hung up on me!

Frustrated, confused and more than a little concerned, I dropped my phone on my bed and went to go have breakfast with my dad.

* * *

Lunches.

School lunches.

My dad was so clueless sometimes. My parents divorced when I was seven and even though I was allowed to see him or talk to him as much as I wanted, I lived with my mom while dad was . . . three thousand miles away. So my dad hadn't really been a part of my life for any extended period since I was little. I could understand how he would be rusty on some things. But how was it even possible that he had no idea what went in a lunch?

I fisted my hand around my dad's bank card, feeling the hard edges digging into my skin. He gave me the card so that I could go out and buy myself what I thought I would need. Seemed reasonable. My dad's pantry ran from boxes of cheesy macaroni, cans of beef stew, instant soup noodles and frozen dinners. Microwave pizzas. A bachelor's diet but if I _**had**_ to stay here . . . I was not going to live off _Chef Boyardee_. The thought made my stomach churn. Food was not supposed to have an immortal shelf-life.

The rain had let up a little since morning but it was still coming down pretty steadily. The only coat I had with me was my denim jacket so I was wearing that, to keep the worst of the wet off. But denim absorbed moisture too easily and the quick jog across the street had me feeling drenched. I ducked into the little grocery store before it even occurred to me that there were other stores in this town.

I hesitated just inside the door, rain dripping off the ends of my hair and stared helplessly at the line of shopping carts conveniently located at the entrance. I didn't seriously think there was _**another**_ furious, murderous vampire waiting to snatch me up . . . but there had to be some other place I could go get groceries. Emotionally, I just didn't want to have to deal with the memory of hard, powerful hands closing over my throat. The whirlwind speed that had nearly knocked me out from the sheer force of going _**that**_ fast. I didn't want to have to think of the sharp fear of seeing Elijah as a vampire right in front of me, either. Or the guilt of remembering how I'd reacted.

_I shouldn't have run away_, I thought now. I panicked. I was scared. But I shouldn't have run from him.

I drew a shaky breath and grabbed a basket. I was still scared, still leery of going too far back into the store but I was more stubborn than truly worried something would happen. I was annoyed with myself. I was afraid all the time and that was just stupid. I refused to live my life like that.

That didn't mean I was necessarily comfortable on this, my first expedition back into the normal world. I was a speed shopper, just throwing items into the cart with only cursory glances to check the cost of things. My pulse picked up while perusing the fridges set against the back wall and then eased back a bit when I moved away from there.

It was just about then that my glyphs started to heat. I didn't immediately notice it, or recognize the significance of my inner forearms suddenly growing hot. I rubbed a hand over one of them, scratching at it through the sleeve of my denim jacket. It was the strangest sensation of something moving under my sleeve. Like a caterpillar crawling over my skin. I rubbed again, then blinked and very quickly pulled up my sleeve. Jerking the whole thing up to my elbow. The glyphs . . . my demon-brands . . . were glistening with a reddish shine.

They'd healed drastically over the past few days. From deep, ugly gashes slashed into my skin they were only puckered, pinkish lines. I had hoped that, with time, they would disappear entirely. But even though they were nearly gone I could still feel the exact pattern of that complex series of swirls and spirals. I could feel them on the _**inside**_. And now, right now, they'd suddenly flared up. They were burning me. Hot air wafted around my body with a scent like lighter fluid and charcoal. I closed my eyes as I sensed a presence behind me. A solid form standing so near, I could feel his breath on my neck.

"This is how you repay my generosity?" a voice hissed, crackling with flame.

Rayzael.

He snarled when I didn't respond and grabbed my arm with a hot hand. I flinched and he spun me around, shoving me into my own shopping cart. The cart rolled under my weight, the wheels carrying it forward and I tripped. Tumbling backwards to slam to the floor. I hit hard, bruising my hip on the solid tiles and Rayzael towered over me. Smirking. Grinning. _**Snarling**_. He was just so tall! Long legs, a lean body in a gray coat that rippled like liquid over his skinny frame. Physically, not very impressive. He could have been twenty or younger. The same age as me only with a shock of snowy white hair on his head. Such a clean color. Like moonlight.

"Wasting your time," the demon curled a lip "playing games. I spared your life, little one. I gave you the chance to save yourself and what remains of your family. I showed . . . mercy to you, didn't I? I could have broken you, forced you to beg me to end you but I did not. And this is how you show your gratitude?"

I had a job. A task.

I hadn't forgotten the demon. But immediately after my first encounter with him, things just started happening so quickly. One thing after another so that I just . . . I had too much to think about. Too much to processes. I _**had**_ forgotten that he would be coming back for me.

"I'm trying," I managed to sputter out. I was still on the ground. Would he let me stand up? I didn't want to risk pissing him off. He already looked furious.

"Liar," Rayzael spat. "You've done nothing to find your wayward ancestor. You've done nothing to infiltrate the supernatural communities of this city. You have the perfect way in and what do you do with it? You fled!"

Elijah. I'd run from Elijah and Rayzael knew it. Had he been watching me?

This was followed by another though. A moment of clarity.

_Vampire slut_, he'd called me once. The first time I saw him, when he was terrorizing me. Torturing me with fire that burned inside my body. He'd known about Elijah from the very beginning. The vampire part but also that there was a connection between us. Not the connection implied in his insult but still. A connection. A bond. And Rayzael had been so sure that he could use it to use me. He'd let me live because of it.

Rayzael knelt down beside me, his smoldering gaze suddenly inquisitive. He grasped my chin and forced my head back, exposing my throat and the dark bruises that had formed along my jaw from where Elijah's brother had grabbed me. The demon snickered.

"I am not unreasonable," Rayzael said, releasing my chin and shoving me down. "Vampires are volatile creatures. You just need more time . . ."

He crooned the last part. Voice dripping poisoned honey.

"Tell you what. Remove the salt from your home, and I'll forgive this considerable lack of progress."

He knew about that. He knew about the salt. Because he'd already tried to get in? Is _**that**_ why Sean had disappeared? Would the ghost be hiding from the demon, or had Rayzael done something to him? My heart lurched. My temper snapped.

"I'll do what I can," I said, forcing an evenness into my voice. I didn't want him to hear the anger, there. I couldn't risk making him mad.

Rayzael snapped, clicking his teeth and said, "No. You'll do whatever it _**takes**_. Motivation comes with knowing others will be paying for your mistakes, little one."

What?

Wait, what? I stared at Rayzael as his exact meaning took a moment to register. My mom. My dad. My aunt. They would pay. They were my collateral. If I failed, they died. Fury swelled so fast, so hot that I nearly sprang at the demon. He would have killed me then, I was sure. If I'd dare to strike at him. But in the time it took me to get off the floor, the creature was gone and I was alone.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

The city morgue was a very clean, well-lit facility that smelled of formaldehyde and hand-disinfectant. Klaus had chosen to accompany Elijah to this place and seemed to find entirely too much that was funny with the entire situation. A pair of vampires, stalking through morgue corridors. Elijah wasn't amused though he could appreciate the joke.

The two brothers were not alone. It was the middle of the day and, because of that, they were allowing themselves to be led by the young technician who had assisted the medical examiner. Elijah didn't know how many autopsies had been completed on the sixteen who were returned but it would be interesting to discover what, if anything, had been found. Surely with the supernatural element to these abductions and the months that had passed since they were first taken . . . _**something**_ had to have been done to them. Would there be evidence of it? Or maybe some clue to what had drawn their abductors to these particular victims?

"It's a real mystery," the young technician was saying while they walked. "Why drop these kids off in the places they were took? It'd be easier to just dump them bodies in the bayou. Let nature get rid of the evidence."

"That wasn't the point, love," Klaus responded. "What fun is there if no one ever gets to see your work?"

The tech nodded, seeming to understand what Klaus was saying. Her white lab coat floated around her knees as she walked. The plastic identification tag clipped to her breast pocket shimmered under the bright florescence as they moved into a corridor with no windows. The smell of disinfectant and other chemicals grew stronger, masking the harsher scent of decay. Of death. A scent that was potent and unmistakable to the two vampires but that the humans seemed hardly aware of.

"Giving the bodies back could have been a taunt," the technician said, glancing at Klaus again. "To the police, you think? Like a catch-me-if-you-can. Or to them kids' families?"

"Either. Both," Klaus responded, smiling genially.

Elijah sighed.

The technician had only been lightly compelled. A simple command to escort them into the morgue to where the bodies were being stored and then to forget about it afterwards. During the day, with so many people going about their work it was just easier to have her lead them inside of going about it by themselves. Because of the simplicity of the orders she'd been given, the woman was very comfortable with it. There was no confusion as she tried to rationalize to herself why she would escort two strangers into a restricted part of the building. And it was making the young technician talkative. Her natural character surfacing, as she spoke with Klaus as if they were longtime friends. And Niklaus seemed perfectly happy with this, eager to share his experience with arranging bodies for maximum effect.

"So, what do you think the killer is trying to get across?" the technician asked, gazing up at Klaus with a bright, clear smile.

She was attracted to him. He knew it, too, and was milking this.

Klaus offered his own charming smile and said, "It's a deliberate taunt, love. No one witnessed him taking these kids. No one saw him bring them back. He's telling us he's too good to get caught. He can do whatever he likes."

"Niklaus," Elijah said.

Klaus smirked and shot his brother a look. Amusement dancing over his expression. The tech only now seemed to remember Elijah was even there. She flushed a mottled pink, embarrassed for having gotten carried away and said, "Here, this is it."

She passed her identity tag over a small slot in the wall, using it as a keycard and a blinking red light flashed green.

Elijah entered the room first, and the tech stepped meekly back to allow him to pass. A row of steel drawers on the far wall shone dully as the automatic lights flickered to life overhead. Tinting the room in electric blue before gaining power and turning white. The air cleared, then, making it easier to see.

The technician scurried over to the wall of drawers and said, "Only six have been autopsied. There hasn't been enough time to do them all. But it's been interesting, for sure! Which one do you want to see?"

"Interesting how?" Elijah asked her.

"They're all burned up," she said. She blinked, then, as if it suddenly occurred to her how unprofessional that assessment had been coming from someone who'd assisted in the autopsies. "I mean, um, the subjects were shown to . . . they all have remarkably similar conditions. The medical examiner didn't want to use the word 'identical' but there's nothing else for it. Of the six that were autopsied, it was like they all experienced exactly the same thing and their bodies reacted to the exposure in exactly the same way."

"And what, exactly, were they exposed to?" Elijah demanded.

Smiling, the tech opened a drawer and pulled out the sliding table in a puff of white condensation as the freezing air inside collided with the significantly warmer air of the room. The body of a boy covered only in a thin white sheet lay there. Skin cool blue and stiff, from rigor mortise but also the refrigeration. Curiously, Elijah pulled the sheet back a little more to expose the face and torso but there was nothing to see. There didn't appear to be wounds on the boy. No abrasions or even bruises. And that was odd, because death brought bruises that may have been invisible to the surface. The boy's hands and forearms showed no sign of defensive wounds. His wrists were undamaged, showing that he hadn't been bound. Not with rope.

What had happened to this adolescent in the months since he had been abducted? More, what had killed him?

"It's unnatural," the tech told him, her eyes darkened with seriousness. "It should show on their skin but it doesn't. We had no clue until we opened them up."

"You said they'd been exposed," Elijah reminded her.

"To radiation," she said, simply. "Their organs are blistered almost beyond recognition but it didn't happen all at once. The M.E. thinks these kids had been kept in a place where they were in constant exposure to a fairly low dose. But it was always there, just . . . soaking into them. The blisters on their organs would have formed gradually over a long period. And it would have been incredibly painful."

Elijah and Klaus exchanged glances. No words.

Elijah didn't know what his brother was thinking, but one thing leapt to the front of Elijah's mind. The only real pattern to these abductions – the _**only**_ one – had been their age. A two year window from where the killer found his victims. Seventeen and eighteen. Every victim had been either seventeen or eighteen years old.

Rachel.

"That's not all," the tech went on, unaware of how close this struck for him. "M.E. estimates their T.O.D. at around 12-hours prior to them being found. By every right, the damage done to their internal organs should never have had a chance to get this bad. It should have killed them months ago. This is gonna sound cold, but these kids were literally cooked. They could not conceivably have died only yesterday."

The technician shook her head, bewildered. Fascinated. "And nobody is sure why there are no burns or blisters on their skin. On the outside, these kids look fine."

"Radiation," Klaus mused.

Elijah folded the sheet back over the body of the boy on the table, covering his undamaged figure.

The tech glanced at Klaus, waiting for him to finish his thought.

"Radiation, love, from the bodies is poisoning the air in this building," he said. "Surely there could have been a better place to store them?"

The woman shrugged. "Of course when we opened them up and saw what they looked like inside, we thought we'd made a horrible mistake. But the Geiger counter read a Zero. None of these kids are radioactive. Makes no sense. Should be lit up like a damned supernova but they're not."

No, it made no sense at all.

Elijah had come here seeking answers. He certainly hadn't expected to be leaving with even more questions than before. The radiation was new. A discovery, of sorts. But it did nothing to explain why only sixteen of the seventeen were returned to the city. Why the abductions had begun again, but had moved from human victims to witches. What could possibly have been the point of doing this? Or even why Rachel's cousin was one of those who were targeted, why she was the one they chose to keep; and with the remarkable coincidence of the bodies being returned so soon after Rachel came to town where it was discovered that she was soul-mated to one of the Originals.

There were too many questions. Too little sense.

Elijah wouldn't have known where to start, had his attention not been deliberately directed to the cousin, Erin. The Trickster led him to Erin. Was the creature helping or was it the cause of this?

One thing he knew. The only thing he felt sure of, right then. Rachel came to this city with a purpose. He thought it was to find him, drawn to her soul-mate as nature would have dictated.

He needed to know why Rachel was here.


	21. Chapter 20 - Together - Part 1

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hello everyone. I'm really sorry that you all had to wait so long for this chapter . . . and that it's a quite a bit shorter than the others. But I wanted to focus exclusively on the scene itself and it was so difficult to write – because I needed to get it exactly **right** – that I kept scrapping what I had and starting over. Still. There's a small present in here for you, my readers, which I think you'll enjoy! :D I think people have been waiting for the first **sweet** moment between Elijah and Rachel. Something to make you smile and really start shipping these two!_

_The second half of this chapter would clutter **this **part if I kept them together, so the second half will be posted independently . . . tomorrow. (at least there's no forever-wait this time) I just wanted to separate both halves. That's why this chapter is shorter than it should be. Still, I really hope you guys enjoy this._

**Chapter 20**

**TOGETHER – Part 1**

* * *

"Today, no matter what it takes, we ride home together."

– **Brian Andreas**

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

_I can do this_, I thought.

But it was hard. Harder than I'd imagined it would be. To step up to the dark wooden door, aged black – resembling something that had been lightly charred by fire. To place my hand on the brushed bronze knob, the metal cool against my skin despite the sun beating down. The wind was cool, but I could feel the hot rays of the lingering summer heat in my hair. Fingers of warmth catching in the fabric of my jacket. Soothing warmth, though I appreciated the chill breeze more. It seemed more honest for September.

Shivering, I took my hand off the doorknob.

Anticipation made it almost painful for me to hesitate but even though I was committed to this – I _**would**_ see Elijah today – nervousness held me back. I hadn't seen him at all since I ran away from him. Not exactly my proudest moment but I was through blaming my behavior on sheer panic. When Rayzael cornered me in the store yesterday, I'd kept my head. Even over the sickly fear that seemed to waft around him I hadn't lost it. I'd stayed quiet. Focused. Elijah hadn't scared me any worse than the demon. So what was to blame if not the sharp shock of discovery?

Taking a breath, I moved back up to the door and lifted my hand. Lightly rapped my knuckles on the wood. My heart was beating too fast but that was okay. That was fine. It was only natural for me not to be completely comfortable with this.

_I can do this_.

I couldn't hear anything from inside the compound but truthfully, the house was so large I would have been more surprised if I _**had**_ heard someone coming to the door. But by that same logic, had anyone even heard me knocking?

Warmth tingled over my neck. Pleasant and familiar. It was the only evidence of his presence I needed. I felt a small smile tugging at my lips. I looked down, lowering my eyes to the toes of my shoes. And then, heart hammering, I turned around to meet Elijah.

I'd forgotten how imposing he was. The weight behind those dark, dark eyes like the brush of his fingers wherever they landed. Right now, he was looking straight at me. Our gazes meeting across this short distance and it was the most incredible feeling. Like coming home. A soft euphoria that was very much like simple happiness. Such a significant sensation that for just a second I actually forgot why I was here, or that he and I hadn't seen each other since I turned tail and ran away from him.

"Hi," I said, struggling to pull myself back together.

Elijah's cautious gaze softened and in my mind, I felt a shiver of warm amusement. "How are you?"

"Umm . . ." I glanced down. "Actually, I'm not doing so great."

Pause. I hesitantly let my gaze travel back up to his. Tension moved between us. A current of unease. It was the strangest thing because I felt that I could hear him – his thoughts and emotions slipping from his mind into my own but it wasn't that simple. It certainly wasn't that clear. I had _**no idea**_ what he was thinking.

"We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can . . .?"

Of course there was somewhere to go. But Elijah didn't say that. He moved closer, almost crowding me and gently took my elbow. "Come inside."

I wish I could say I followed Elijah into his home, but really I was herded ahead of him. He stayed very near as I was guided along the recognized path back to his room. I knew where we were going from the last time I'd been here, even though I was tired then and not paying too close attention. I'd trusted Elijah so completely that now that I was wide awake and not still traumatized from having the demon brands cut into my skin, I realized how stupid it had been to follow a man I only just met up to his room. I never would have done that if I'd been thinking straight that day. No matter that he was my soul-mate. I should have known better – and I did – but I'd been sick. Hurting.

Elijah had been kind. It had always been very easy for me to trust him.

That's why I was here, now. I still felt that I could.

Neither of us said a word until we were back in his suite of rooms and he quietly shut the door behind us. I moved further inside, scanning the sitting room with its sofas and the large, antique writing desk. Potted plants added a touch of greenery but it was really the windows that drew my attention. East-facing windows that would let in the first light of every day. It would be lovely to sit there at dawn, with a cup of hot coffee and watch the sun rise golden and rose in those quiet moments before the city woke. The in-between period where the night-partiers withdrew to sleep off the excess and the locals were only just waking up. I felt myself smiling as I imagined it. The quiet. The dawn.

It was Elijah who was the first to break the silence. He moved up behind me, this time keeping enough distance between us so that I didn't feel crowded and said, "I never meant to frighten you."

He sounded so unlike himself that the hesitancy – the apology – in his voice shivered my skin. My heart ached as I imagined what he must have felt, in the moment where I chose to turn away from him. I should never have run away. I knew it and was ashamed of myself for the way I'd behaved.

"I'm not scared of you, Elijah," I told him, gaze fixing on the wall of the building across the street. I saw nothing; my attention fully on the man behind me. So close, I just needed to turn around. I crossed my arms over my stomach.

"You're scared _**now**_," he said. Perceptively.

I nodded, knowing he would sense a lie and turned to face him. He was standing closer than I'd guessed, really only a few feet back. Near enough to touch. He really was handsome. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit as black as jet, with the crisp white shirt beneath. An emerald-black tie tucked neatly into his jacket. Handsome? Hell, Elijah was _**hot**_. Place his photograph in a magazine and women around the world would be tempted to lick the page . . .

I flushed. Heat shooting to my cheeks so quickly it was a wonder my head didn't fly off. I glanced quickly away, struggling not to grin out of sheer embarrassment while I fervently hoped Elijah hadn't been reading my mind just then. _**That**_ was not an appropriate thing to be thinking about! Focus.

Elijah had not caught the thought, though he noticed my furious blush with a keen interest. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what I'd been thinking about.

I took a breath and let it out on a sigh. Enough screwing around. I was procrastinating. Putting off what needed to be done but . . . this was harder than I'd imagined. I never thought it would be easy to come here, to face him and own up to my part in what happened. For some reason, I just never expected the heaviness in my chest. The ache.

"I'm sorry." Pathetic. I wanted to offer something better than what must have sounded like the most generic apology but I couldn't think of anything else.

Elijah appeared taken aback, though most of the emotion came to me from over our bond. His expression gave very little away. He was so hard to read it made me grateful for the little flurries of feeling that danced back and forth between us whenever we were together.

"Sorry for what?"

"For how I behaved," I told him. Shame scalded my tongue. I had to force the rest out, "I might have overreacted."

Elijah smirked. A real smirk, just short of becoming an outright grin. His eyes danced with amusement. "And what do you think would have been a better response to being attacked by a vampire?"

I bristled, "A lot of good running did. I had a five minute head start and you cut me off in two seconds flat. How fast are you?"

"Faster than you," he said on a breath. His smirk shifted to become a soft smile. "You could not have outrun me."

No. I hadn't really thought I could. I saw the speed with which he was able to move, while he fought. And he'd been fighting _**for**_ me. Protecting me. A whiplash blur of impossible speed. I shivered now, remembering it but this time the memory elicited zero fear. Only a strange sort of pride. He was fast. Powerful. And he was mine . . . well, sort of.

"Elijah," I sighed. "I was running away from you. Your brother attacked me. You saved me but as soon as I could, the second I had the chance, I ran from _**you**_. Not him."

"I know," he said softly. He moved as if he wanted to touch me, brush his fingers over my cheek but he held himself in check. He stayed where he was, still keeping that careful distance between us.

"I'm not scared of you," I insisted, needing to say it. For both our sakes. He needed to know it. I needed to hear myself saying the words. "Never. Never, not once did I feel I should be. I was just . . . I don't know. There was so much happening; I wasn't thinking. I just reacted. I needed to get away from what was going on so I ran."

His expression sobered and a flicker of quiet uncertainty passed from him into me. The emotion so at odds with Elijah's natural character – the strength and confidence I could feel so clearly in him – that something inside me softened. He cared enough to give a damn about what I thought of him. It mattered to him what I felt towards him. And that was . . . that . . .

I didn't think. I refused to give myself the opportunity to chicken out and keep this careful distance. This safe distance, away from the vampire. But there was a piece of me that just broke off. A chunk of the fear, the uncertainty and confusion that I didn't want to admit I had been nursing for days. Holding it close to my heart as if it would somehow protect me. I could feel it dissolving now, like sugar in water. The emotions were still there, only not so potent anymore. I let those feelings go to where they couldn't do damage.

It was time to fix this ridiculous rift between us.

I moved before Elijah even knew what I intended to do.

I took his hand in mine, gently disengaging it from where he was holding it against the front of his jacket. Lightly passing my fingers over his knuckles before lacing my fingers through his. We stayed like that for a moment, with me holding his hand. Marveling at the lukewarm temperature of his skin. Just a degree cooler than mine, so that I could feel the difference but it was not uncomfortable.

This time, I allowed myself to feel what I had been denying for days. A thrill of excitement. Elijah was a vampire. A _**vampire**_! And he was right here; right in front of me. Solid and real and impossible. And I was so, so excited to know this. To be here with him.

I brushed my thumb over the back of his hand, feeling nerves and tendon move beneath my touch. Elijah lifted my hand to his mouth, coming just short of pressing his lips against my knuckles. My heart hammered, wanting to feel him but Elijah just closed his eyes. Shutting out the magnetic power of that dark gaze. Doing nothing to lessen the pull between us that had only grown stronger, despite all the time we'd spent apart. This was right. This was exactly right and if I could have frozen this moment, made it last forever . . . I really wished I were able to do that.

"I guess we both mishandled this," I offered. "I shouldn't have run away."

"And I should have trusted _**you**_," Elijah said. "I should have trusted you enough to have told you the truth from the start."

"I know why you didn't," I said, allowing a smile through just to lighten the moment. "I mean . . . well, at what point do you just drop _'oh, did I mention I'm a vampire'_ into the conversation?"

I tilted my head a little, fearlessly bringing his gaze back to mine. I placed my other hand over the knot of fingers between us. Enjoying the sensation of being allowed to touch him. To be near him. I would have laughed, if I wasn't already so relieved that whatever misunderstanding we'd had was over. We were okay again.

And I was petting a vampire.

That thought sobered me. "There is . . . another reason why I decided to come see you today."

Elijah nodded. He did not disentangle our hands, which I appreciated. He wasn't pulling away. But his expression mirrored the renewed tension I felt. He must have picked something more than what I was saying from my thoughts. Something I let slip over our bond.

I hesitated, uncertain of how to phrase what I very desperately needed to share with Elijah. But he had to know. It was the whole reason I decided that today was the day where I would talk to him. It was time to apologize, to make peace. I probably would have been knocking at his door anyway in another day or so. But I was here _**now**_ because something happened.

We needed to talk.

"I saw Rayzael," I blurted. The demon's name stung, burning my tongue as I spoke it. Fear and rage clenched in my belly. "He's back, Elijah."


	22. Chapter 21 - Together - Part 2

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 21**

**TOGETHER – Part 2**

* * *

"Almost lost you," he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears.

"Been through too much, me and you. We're going to finish this thing together."

– **Brom;**_ The Child Thief_

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah and Rachel sat together on the small sofa in the sitting area of his room. She had removed her shoes, making herself more comfortable and now sat sideways on the cushions, facing him with her legs crossed beneath her. Her hands in her lap while her fingers picked absently at her jeans. A nervous tic. They spoke. Or rather, Rachel spoke. Elijah listened, growing more agitated with every word though he allowed none of that agitation to show in his expression.

Rachel told him everything.

She poured out everything she had been keeping to herself for too long. Her fear spiking as she spoke, though she was hardly aware of the emotion rising within her. Elijah felt it. He also felt her rush of relief to finally have someone to share this with. It came across so clearly, how alone she had believed herself to be. Rachel confessed the demon's plans for her, the threats it had made towards her immediate family should she fail to find and deliver this unknown ancestor. It was a very predictable threat; to keep her family hostage in this way so that Rachel would do as she was told. What churned in Elijah's mind was that the demon had recognized an opportunity to use her. Their soul-bond would have been glaringly obvious to a demon. Rachel was given an ultimatum – use her vampire mate, use _**him,**_ to gain access to the supernatural world where her ancestor had hidden himself or else watch her family burn.

Only, when the demon first came to her she hadn't known he was a vampire. Vampires were mentioned, Rachel remembered now, but she hadn't given it much though. Not then.

But now?

He could not have been prouder of her. His intelligent, brave, sensible soul-mate. Many people had intelligence but few possessed the sense to know what to do with it. Rachel made her decision. She would use him . . . but she chose not to deceive him. She was asking for his help and her honesty won him over in a way nothing else could have done. Oh, yes. He could not have been prouder of her.

"Say something," Rachel said softly, having finished speaking.

Elijah lifted his gaze to hers.

"I won't leave you," he swore to her, without thinking. No matter. He meant it.

Rachel's immediate relief swept through them both. "So you'll help me?"

"I will," Elijah said.

She smiled then. A combination of relief, as if some great weight had been lifted, and gratitude. The sun caught in her eyes, glinting silver gray. Momentarily distracting him as Elijah noticed something he hadn't considered before now. Rachel's long, honey brown hair was tied casually back in a loose tail. She was dressed comfortably in jeans and a light sweater. Her denim jacket draped over the arm of a chair behind her. She dressed to blend with her peers, he realized. It was as if she were hiding herself. She worked very hard, he thought, to blend. She didn't succeed as well as she thought she did. The sharp, clear focus in her stare was just too striking. She was just so absolutely _**alive**_; and that was the source of whatever fire he thought he saw in her before. The flame, the heat, that seemed to radiate out. It pierced his heart to imagine how fragile she was. How easily all that life could be stolen away.

One little mortal against a demon.

He took her hands in his, and very gently moved her sleeves up to expose the smooth skin of Rachel's inner forearm. She didn't draw away, even though he sensed her automatic desire to flinch. To hide the glyphs as if she were ashamed of them. But the damage done to her arms had faded so much since he'd seen them last that they were nearly invisible. All that remained were pale lines, a lot like scar tissue, so fine it was as if they had been drawn there with ink. Elijah passed his thumb over them, feeling only smooth skin.

Not scars, then. Rachel had healed and what remained were only the glyphs themselves.

"They don't hurt," Rachel offered, seeing how Elijah lingered there. She brushed her own fingers over the complicated patters. "They get hot sometimes and that's how I know Rayzael's around. But they only hurt if the demon grabs me. Mostly they're just annoying. I have to hide them so I can't really just forget about them."

"Would you ignore them, if you could?" Elijah asked. He slanted a glance up in challenge. "Accept them as unavoidable? That doesn't sound like something you'd do."

Rachel met him evenly, straightening her spine to sit up and flashed an answering smirk, "What makes you think I wouldn't? I've given up before, Elijah. Plenty of times. Lots and lots and lots of times."

"And yet you're here," he pointed out.

Rachel drew her arms from his hands, smoothing her sleeves down to cover the glyphs and returned Elijah's smile. "Yeah. Here I am," she hesitated but then added, "You had to know I'd come back."

_**To you**_. She didn't say it out loud, but the words slipped into Elijah's mind. _You had to know I'd come back __**to you**_. Elijah watched Rachel for a moment, waiting for her to say more but she didn't. He wondered if she were even aware of exactly what she'd been thinking. She didn't seem to know that _**he'd**_ heard her.

Rachel stiffened, her eyes widening as she suddenly noticed the noises out in the hall. Elijah was already aware of them. He'd heard the sounds minutes ago.

Rachel's eyes slid from his face to the door of his room and back again. Uneasy.

"It's only my brother returning," Elijah informed her.

Rachel shot him a cautious glance. "The same brother who tried to murder me? That's really reassuring, Elijah."

He returned her look, arching a brow. "You realize that if he had intended to kill you that day, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"Because if he meant to kill me, I'd be dead," she muttered. "Yeah. I figured."

She sighed, drawing in a deep breath and then expelling it in a rush. Her hand didn't shake as she pushed a strand of hair that'd escaped from her tail back behind her ear, but Elijah thought that only will kept her from trembling. Tension crackled over their bond. Rachel was not happy with Klaus. Elijah couldn't fault her for that, but then Rachel's eyes locked with his and she frowned. Aware Elijah was reading her.

"We're going to have to do something about these glyphs," she said, directing their conversation back to safer ground. Had she read _**him**_, too? Elijah hadn't wanted to consider what would happen if his soul-mate and his brother couldn't make peace. But there was still time to mend whatever damage Klaus had done with his attack, and the resulting emotional trauma in Rachel.

It was safe to drop the issue. For now.

Rachel continued before Elijah could respond, "I've been trying to figure out exactly what they do. What they're for, you know? You said they're brands. That the demon uses them to keep track of me. But I think they're more than that."

Elijah frowned, "What do you think?"

"I think Rayzael can use them to control me," she said. "Not exactly like mind-control or whatever. He can't make me do anything or . . . he hasn't yet, anyway. But the glyphs are like a shock-collar. They tune to his emotions. Whenever he gets mad, or whenever he wants to make a point they get really, really hot."

Elijah's gaze hardened at those words. "How hot?"

"Well . . . um, like lava, I guess."

Rachel might not have been sure how to explain, but her thoughts told him exactly what he needed. To answer his question, she needed to think back. To remember what she'd felt. And where her mouth described the sensation as _**'lava'**_ her mind screamed words that explained it perfectly.

_**No! No, stop! Stop!**_

Excruciating, maddening pain. The mere memory set her mind of fire. Lava in her veins . . . was too kind a word for what she actually felt when the demon used those glyphs to punish her. He himself felt none of it, but through her Elijah received a flicker of what she'd experience – and would give anything not to have to feel again – and it made him grind his teeth. He locked his jaw and had to look away to collect himself.

A warm hand closed over his. Elijah turned back to find Rachel smiling at him.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm fine, Elijah. Really."

"No, it's not okay," he said fiercely, eyes hardening to flints of steel.

"Sure it is," Rachel insisted. "If I can just shrug it off, Elijah, then that means I'm still strong enough to take it and move on. Rayzael's trying to break me and he hasn't." Her own eyes glittered. "I can be proud of myself for that. I could have let him beat me but I didn't."

And she _**was**_ proud of herself for it. Without any need for Elijah's approval, she was simply sharing it with him. She'd done something – something _**hard**_ – and succeeded. She was still whole. Again, Elijah thought of the courage and sense it must have taken for her to come to him for help rather than try and manipulate him to get what she wanted. Rachel couldn't fight the demon and she knew it, so she didn't try. But she'd had no desire to alienate Elijah, either, no matter the distance that had sprung up between them. Their misunderstanding could be mended, and essentially it had been now that they'd had a chance to speak. But how to fix deception, manipulation, or betrayal?

As difficult a position as she was in because of the demon and her need to protect her family from the creature's wrath . . . Elijah knew he would have forgiven her had she betrayed him as the demon wanted. He understood the sacrifices one makes to defend his – or her – family. He would not have condemned her for it. But it would not have been easy for them to come back to where they were now, if she had. Their connection was too new. Something would have been irrevocably broken between them.

Oh, she was a clever one alright. Elijah smiled, feeling another spurt of appreciation and, yes, a fierce pride for this girl.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do about these marks, though," Rachel said, deflating a little. She rubbed the palm of her hands over her inner arms, brushing her glyphs through the fabric of her sleeves. They might not be hurting her now, but she was clearly uncomfortable. She didn't want them there. "I considered just cutting them off but I didn't know if that would work."

She shot Elijah a rueful smile. "Besides. Slicing off a nice chunk of skin seems very messy for a '_**maybe**_'."

"Don't do that," Elijah said. He took both of Rachel's hands in his, lightly squeezing her fingers.

Rachel squeezed back. "It was just a thought. I'd never actually do it. Can you imagine? Just the sight of blood makes me dizzy. I'd probably faint if it was my own."

That statement, delivered in a slightly self-mocking tone with more than just a touch of Rachel's natural good humor shining through was so unexpected that Elijah could not have stopped the slow, daring grin if he'd wanted to. He stared at Rachel, his soul-mate so comfortable in the presence of a vampire that she could blurt out something like that and found that she was already watching him. Laughter dancing in her eyes.

"You faint at the sight of blood?"

Rachel laughed at the ironic look in Elijah's expression, and the sound seemed very honest to Elijah's ears. It lacked the hard complexity he'd grown accustomed to through the ages. The falsehood or simple politeness of the higher circles he and his siblings frequented. Rachel's laughter was exactly what it seemed. An expression of happiness and humor and to Elijah, it was clean. A breath of fresh air.

"Well, I might just pass out having to watch my own blood gushing," she said. "Seriously, though. I get nauseous. I scraped my knees falling in the driveway as a kid, and ended up screaming at my dad that I was going to die!"

Elijah's grin widened as he sat carefully back. His gaze passed over Rachel's face down to her knees, trying to imagine what she must have been like as a child.

"Oh, jeez," she said with another laugh. "I'm soul-mated to a vampire."

Took her a surprisingly long time to get the joke . . .

"Whatever shall we do," Elijah muttered, deliberately baiting her.

Rachel did not rise to meet him this time. Instead, she considered the man in front of her. Elijah paused, sensing the sudden stillness in her. Rachel's eyes seemed darker now, as the sunlight spilling in through his windows had finally moved away from them to crawl slowly up the far wall. They were both in shadow.

After only a moment, he fixed his gaze on her. She drew a sharp breath, startled by his focus but there was no fear in her mind. Encouraged, he said, "Just ask, Rachel."

She tilted her head in a curiously birdlike manner. Her gaze didn't waver.

"Ask you what?" she said, perfectly aware he knew what she'd been thinking. "You drink blood."

A statement of fact. She didn't question it. Didn't demand that he correct her, or ask that he assure her that vampires did not, in fact, drink the blood of the living.

_**Too smart for games**_. Elijah had to stop himself from shaking his head in . . . awe.

Still, "Does that bother you?"

"Should it?" Rachel countered.

Elijah paused, uncertain of how to respond. He watched the play of emotion in Rachel's silver eyes, crowned in amber. The two colors so at odds that they were both perfectly distinct. At first he wasn't sure what she was really asking in her immediate response to his question. But then he did and felt his mouth twist in a crooked smile, "No. You have nothing to fear from me."

Tension ebbed. She slumped a little, breathing a small sigh.

"So you won't drink _**me**_," Rachel said clearly, just needing to be sure.

"No," he said again.

"Why not?"

Somehow, that question did not seem at all unusual coming from the girl seated next to him. It almost made him laugh; the slight affront to her tone. As if she thought he believed her blood wasn't good enough for him.

Elijah said, "I won't feed from you, Rachel, because you don't want me to."

Mollified, she sat back. Bracing herself against the arm of the sofa because she was still sitting sideways. Facing him. Elijah considered that, wondering if it was deliberate. Not once had she turned away from him . . .

Rachel absently scratched at her glyphs, hidden by the sleeves of her sweater.

"Maybe we can do something about those Marks," Elijah said, reaching out to take her arms again. Rachel allowed it, but the unease in her mind stopped him from pulling up her sleeves to expose them like before. She really did not like having those symbols in her skin. Not that he blamed her . . . he wouldn't particularly enjoy the experience of being branded by a demon, either.

"We are _**not**_ cutting off my arms," Rachel quipped, joking to try and hide her discomfort.

Elijah gave her a reassuring smile and said, "No. But maybe we can negate their effects, at least. Weaken the power in them, to weaken the demon's hold on you."

That caught her interest. Rachel scooted closer; eager to hear what he thought could be done.

"Can you return here tomorrow?" he asked her. Rachel frowned and Elijah added, "Or I can meet you anywhere you like."

Rachel raised a single brow, "I'm not afraid of you Elijah. You think I'd be more comfortable meeting in some public place with a crowd of witnesses?"

"I think you're very much afraid of _**Niklaus**_, and you would rather not risk running into him in our home," Elijah corrected, laughing at the sudden flush staining Rachel's cheeks as she realized she misread his intention.

"How about my place?" she offered.

Her place. He was being invited over.

Trust.

She was trusting him and the realization caused a sharp stab of pain to pierce his chest. It meant a lot to him that she would do this, and he hadn't known just how badly he craved her trust until that very second. He knew he would not hurt her. But he needed _**her**_ to know that. To believe it.

He thought that maybe she didn't understand the repercussions of her offer. Immediately he saw that he'd underestimated his soul-mate. Again. It was in her eyes . . . she knew. She understood exactly what she was risking. Once a vampire was invited into the home, she would not be able to keep him out.

It was time to go. That, too, was in Rachel's gaze. In her mind. She had grown tired as the day progressed, the onslaught of acute emotions and fast relief having drained her strength.

"You can walk me home, if you want," Rachel said softly, lowering her gaze. Embarrassed. Eager. Hoping he would. "You were just thinking it, weren't you? That it would be safer to walk with me? It's fine. Not like you don't already know where I live."

All the invitation he needed. Elijah stood in one swift motion and held out his hand. Rachel took it without hesitation and let him pull her up. He waited while she slipped her feet back into her shoes. Listening, he pinpointed his brother and Hayley in Klaus' room . . . talking. Discussing the Sixteen Returned, of all things.

He turned back to Rachel, finding her ready. Shoes on. Jacket on. She was pulling her long tail of hair out from the collar of her denim jacket, but her attention was on him. Again, that fixed look. She was thinking. Considering.

Elijah raised a brow, inviting her to voice what was on her mind.

She did.

"Can I see?"

Such a vague statement it threw him.

"Can you see what?"

Rachel swallowed, now very clearly embarrassed. A little uncertain, too, as if she felt she was asking something inappropriate.

"Look, I saw you . . . before. In the backroom when you saved me from your brother." She paused, hesitating as Elijah clued into what she wanted. She swallowed again, hard. "I just . . . I was so scared the first time I don't know what I thought I saw. I . . ." Deep breath. "Can you show me?"

Elijah bowed his head, briefly closing his eyes. This time, it was him who hesitated. Not out of shame, he knew what he was and was not troubled by it. No. Certainly not shame. It was just that he did not want to see the same horrified expression come over Rachel as before.

_But why shouldn't she see? _he asked himself. She was asking. And he needed to see for himself how difficult it was going to be for her to accept what he was. It was too easy to pretend he was human while he looked human. She needed to see the vampire, too. That part needed to become real to her.

With that, Elijah lifted his head and looked at Rachel. No fixed stare, no furious focus. He simply looked at her, giving her a moment to brace herself . . . and then allowed his vampire nature to surface.

He could feel the pleasant buzz of blood swelling in his eyes. Felt the smooth slide of fangs descending. But his attention remained locked on the girl standing bravely right in front of him. He watched her face, reading her thoughts in her eyes. Waiting for . . . he wasn't sure. Elijah did not know what he expected from her. He'd withdrawn from her mind, afraid to read her unfiltered emotions.

Rachel held still for a moment. Her body too relaxed to be frozen. She looked at him, her gaze moving over his face. It was such a quiet expression. Cool. Not analytical, she wasn't studying him. That wasn't it. It felt almost as if she were waiting . . . waiting for some awful emotion to rise in her, and finding that it didn't.

Hesitantly, giving Elijah all the time in the world to refuse her Rachel lifted her hand. She paused just short of touching him, her eyes softening when it was clear that Elijah would allow her to run her fingers over the veins pulsing beneath the skin around his eyes. Her fingers were gentle, her touch soft as a whisper as she passed her thumb over the arc of his cheek. Their minds touched, Rachel initiating the contact this time. She was reaching to see what he thought of this, if he were uncomfortable . . . but Elijah caught snippets of Rachel's own emotions through the reopened link. She was curious. Not afraid. There was no sensation of her drawing away from him. If anything, it felt as if she were drawing _**closer**_.

"Does it hurt?" Rachel asked, softly.

Elijah smiled at that, surprised to find he'd closed his eyes. He looked at his soul-mate then, seeing her through new eyes. Every time they were together, she seemed different.

Adaptable. She changed in direct response to the direction her new reality took her.

"No, it doesn't hurt," Elijah said. He released the vampire, feeling his fangs withdraw. The blood swelling around his eyes smoothing down.

Rachel offered her own smile. Her gaze bright, and clear as glass as she looked up at him. "Thank you for that."

He couldn't respond. Could not express the measure of relief – and gratitude – he felt at the absence of fear in this girl. _**His**_. His soul-mate. One of a vampire's most driving instincts was territorialism and he was certainly feeling the instinct now. It was there before but Rachel's acceptance brought it to the surface, making it rear its head and roar inside of him. Territorialism – but not some primal sense that she belonged to him. It was a more complex emotion than simple ownership. It was the feeling that made him want to hold her close with one arm, and brandish a sword against the world with the other.

Elijah shook his head, banishing the image of himself doing exactly that and smiled at Rachel.

"Come on," he said. "I'll take you home."

* * *

**QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _People seemed a little disappointed with my last chapter. Hope this one makes up for it! Cheers. :D_


	23. Chapter 22 - The Bone Witch

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 22**

**THE BONE WITCH**

* * *

"By fighting you never get enough, but by yielding you get more than you expected."

– **Dale Carnegie**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Moonlight glinted ethereal off the still waters of the unnamed lake deep in the Louisiana bayou. The night was alive with the noise of the swamp. The croak of toads and frogs, rising and falling in a chorus over the glug of fish rising to the surface, snatching at mosquito larvae and pond skaters. The still water making for the perfect nursery and hunting ground. Above the water the warm night swarmed with insects. The flutter of gnats. Blackflies. Mosquitoes. Irritating, biting bugs that would land on Elijah's dark jacket, on his neck and the backs of his hands but then immediately lose interest in him. His potent vampire blood unrecognizable to these creatures.

The putrid smells of the bayou, of swamp gasses and decaying vegetation was accented by the fresher odors of grass, water and fragrant wetland flowers. Elijah's sharp eyes cut through the darkness as if it were clearest day. Standing on the moss and mud lakeshore, he scanned the wide open air over the mirror-like body of water. There was nothing significant to be seen. By every stretch, there was nothing here but Elijah knew what he was doing. And he was sure he knew what would happen. He only needed to be patient but as the minutes passed he began to wonder if maybe he'd misread the signs.

Was he at the right place?

Elijah glanced at his watch, pulling back on his sleeve just enough so that he could see the time. A long-legged mosquito landed squarely on the glass face of his watch, gossamer wings folding carefully back. He brushed it off and lowered his arm, hooking a thumb in his pants pocket to look out across the water again. The low, angry hiss of an alligator came out of the darkness and Elijah's skin prickled with energy. Nerves. But not his own.

He held himself perfectly still as the night seemed to swell around him. The night deepening to where even his vampire vision could not have pieced that darkness. The unnerving but natural sounds from the bayou faded. Soundlessness engulfed Elijah. A silence so deep it was as if he were stricken deaf. It came as a colossal shock to his too-keen senses after the morass of sounds he'd been listening to for more than an hour while waiting for this moment. It caused him to nearly crumple as pressure built in his head. His brain desperately trying to fill the vacuum with something. A sound. A sight. But there was nothing. For one torturously empty moment, where it seemed as if even time ceased to exist, Elijah was caught in the void. But he endured it and found that it was really only lasted a few seconds.

The emptiness cleared, the whole world filling with life again. Elijah breathed a sigh of relief before he could stop himself. Moonlight shone down, slanting silver beams over the glistening lake. The Bone House situated on a small rise in the very centre of the lake, rising up like a specter of decay from the water.

The little cabin was perched on a jumble of black rock that had not been there before. It didn't surprise Elijah to see it, now. He looked down at his watch again, noting the time at only a couple minutes past twelve. Only at True Midnight would the house appear. The moment where the world was turned, facing wholly away from the sun. There was less than a minute before the balance of light and dark would shift as the Earth rotated, bringing them closer to daylight again but right now was the perfect time. The darkest minute where the veil lifted, and the Bone Witch would open the door to her home to any who dared to enter.

Elijah dared.

Moving carefully around the soggy lakeshore, he came to where a yellow-stained path cut across the water. He stepped up onto the bridge and walked unhurriedly, as if he were not already keenly aware of how little time there was until the house – and the bridge – disappeared. His shoes clicked on the hard surface. The uneven texture strained beneath his weight, groaning softly; the sound eerily like that of a deathbed moan. The bridge was constructed entirely from the bones of the newly dead, dug up from fresh graves solely to unnerve those making their way to the Bone Witch's door.

The house was creepy before, but every step brought him closer and details gradually became clearer. The chain of human skulls nailed to the walls with heavy iron spikes. The skulls chipped and shattered from the force with which they were attached. The house strangled under the weight of thorny creepers. Moss and lichen growing thickly around the stone base of the house. Tiny bones, of rodents and reptiles and birds littered the black rock of the island. Thrown carelessly about, as if discarded.

But over the door, deliberately placed at the very centre, was the fleshless skull of what at first appeared to be a human male but with fangs protruding from the upper jaws.

Elijah hesitated. Startled but also disquieted. He expected that was the intention. The skull belonged to a vampire. A warning, he realized. For him. The Bone Witch was quite aware of who had come calling tonight and wanted to make it clear that she was not impressed by him. She would not be threatened, but she seemed to have no qualms about trying to intimidate the Original on her doorstep.

That didn't mean she intended to lock him out.

The front door creaked open, exposing only a sliver of darkness to show the interior but releasing a gust of putrid, warm-wet air. Elijah placed one hand on the rotting wood, taking note of the deep gouges caused by fingernails scrabbling on the door, and pushed into the little cabin.

His eyes adjusted immediately to the change in light. From the clear moonlit night outside, into the smoky shine of candles and burning herbs within. He hesitated on the threshold, taking a breath of the smoke and found it only to be smoldering sage and garlic. A fog meant to repel ghosts, not vampires.

The inside of the house hadn't changed from the last time he was here. Bones, the skulls and skeletons of small mammals were scattered over every flat surface. Tables, shelves, chests and even the floor. Human skulls had a clearer purpose, with hot candle wax running little rivulets over the contours of the cracked and broken scalps. The walls were nailed with the larger lupine skeletons that may have been mistaken for wolves until one noticed the length of their fangs. The slightly wider space between the eyes sockets. Werewolves. Their heads taken as trophies.

Elijah moved further into the little front room, careful not to brush against any of the many macabre objects left lying around. The Bone Witch's parlor might have appeared to be a disorganized mess but Elijah recognized it for what it was. Enchanted traps. Pitfalls for the unwary. He could feel the magic like an electric current, sizzling and spitting on the air around him. Power hummed, rattling in his bones. Every trap was lethal. He would not be killed, even the fabled Bone Witch had no power to destroy him, however the danger was so real that even Elijah had to respect the threat.

Noises whispered from the darkest corners of the room. Cloth brushing against skin. A body in motion. He held still and said, "Show yourself."

To his surprise, she did. The Bone Witch coming out from the bright shine of a fat white candle, her gradual appearance confusing to the senses so that Elijah couldn't tell if she actually materialized from the candle-flame or if she stepped out from around it.

"Elijah," she crooned, her deep eyes gleaming. Green as the moss that grew on the trunks of the swamp cypress trees, they smoldered. Catching every particle of light from the room, drawing it to herself so that everything else seemed to dim and grow dark. The Witch was beautiful, smooth mocha skin gleaming with health and vitality. She was tall with a slim, supple body that could set a man's blood on fire with desire. Strong, firm legs. Hands with delicate, knowing fingers. Her face was a study in perfection. Plump lips painted bold red. High cheeks, with distinctly chiseled bones accenting the shape of her face without making anything too sharp. She possessed a fall of ebony hair which cascaded in rippling waves off the crown of her head, down over her shoulder. The ends of those long, silky strands curling.

She moved like liquid, her body caressing the senses and Elijah was not immune to her. He felt the quick rise of desire. The lick of flame dancing over his skin, as the memory of the last time he'd come here asking for aid slipped unwanted through his mind. Deliberately taunting him. He struggled to bury those memories, finding that he wanted nothing at all to do with them.

The Witch was dressed only in an ivory shift. Her feet bare, toes curling on the rotting wood floor. She walked slowly, avoiding the many sharp points of bones. He remembered how the scent of her blood had nearly driven him mad with wanting her before, and could appreciate the effort she took to keep from pricking her feet now.

Elijah had come here to bargain. The Bone Witch was showing that she was willing to deal and had no interest to distract him from that.

"Please, sit," she said softly, not turning to look to see if Elijah obeyed. She knew he would. Stubbornly insisting that he would rather remain standing would only be stupid. So Elijah pulled out the uneven stool offered to him, unbuttoning the front of his suit and sat down at the little table in the very centre of the room, with the witch lowering herself across from him. A sweep of her hand cleared the tabletop of bones and shiny black beetles. A trio of candles lit themselves, offering a soft glow and bathing the Bone Witch in a very flattering light.

"You know, there was never any need for you to want anything to return to me," she said, her sultry voice purring. "You are always welcome here, Elijah."

"And yet, I've come for a reason," he said, finding a perverse sort of pleasure in watching the Witch's expression stiffen. He was sure she wasn't denied very often. Must have come as quite a surprise.

Her annoyance came in the sharpness of her reply, "Alright. What do you want, Elijah?"

"A demon has made its presence felt in the city of New Orleans, through the deliberate branding of a local girl," he said, carefully skimming around the importance of the girl in question. Elijah hoped to mislead the Bone Witch by calling Rachel a local, though she hadn't been in the city anywhere near long enough to be considered that. "I would like to have those brands removed."

The Witch lifted one delicately arched brow, watching him through unnaturally green eyes. Elijah stared back, relying on his stillness to hide his sudden concern for what the Witch would do if she sensed his fear. He could not allow himself to be vulnerable to her, to show any weakness or else the Bone Witch would exploit those cracks in his armor and consume him from within. She would feed off him until there was nothing left to take.

She'd nearly done it once already, when he was still too new to realize what was happening.

"You risk quite a lot, to come here for this," the Witch remarked. A clear question in that statement.

"Weakening a demon's hold on my city matters," he retorted. "This girl must be released from the creature's power before its poison spreads."

The Witch tossed back her head and laughed, the motion causing candlelight to ripple through her thick raven tresses. She seemed genuinely amused. She lowered her head to look directly at the vampire seated across from her, with only the rotting table between them and bared her teeth in challenge. "You think I can overpower a demon, my love? My, how disappointing. You had so much potential when last we met. I was certain you would have grown magnificent over the centuries. I've eagerly awaited your return but now . . . you must know I could not defeat a demon. The Infernal powers surpass my own."

"I'm not asking that you defeat the creature," Elijah said. He smiled, forcing warmth into his eyes to reassure the Witch and added, "I only need the chains it placed over a mortal to be lifted. Surely that is not too much to ask, from one such as you."

The Witch smirked. "Oh, Elijah. My dark vampire. Still so young."

No one else could have gotten away with calling him young. But to a creature like the Bone Witch . . . one who has existed for millennia prior to Elijah's own birth . . . she was so much older. Her actual age was a mystery, but it boggled his mind to imagine. Elijah felt very much like a bumbling adolescent in her presence, and he didn't much enjoy the feeling.

"What do you think demon brands _**are**_?" The Witch demanded harshly. "The Infernal powers are tied to this little mortal so completely that to remove them would cut her life-cord as surely as tearing her heart from her body. It would be kinder to simply kill this girl yourself, though I feel it safe assume you would rather keep her alive or else you would have done so already. And so I will ask you again, and this time consider your request with a little more care. What do you want of me?"

Every word had been delivered easily, without any implied threat and yet Elijah could feel the change in the room. The static from before becoming crackling whips of lightning which lashed at the walls, breaking through the mess of animal bones with enough force to turn them to powder. The acrid stench of burnt oxygen stung in his lungs so that had he been human he would have suffocated.

"Will you _**negate**_ the effects of the brands, then?" Elijah offered. "Weaken the demon's hold on the mortal?"

"That I _**can**_ do," the Witch tilted her head, and the furious energy faded to only a mild buzz. "A simple spell to scatter the pulse of power which calls to the demon, and the mortal will no longer draw the creature."

"Is that the best that can be done?" Elijah asked, aware that he may be pushing it.

The Bone Witch nodded and folded her hands on her lap. "_**You**_ could always try killing the demon. I, however, wouldn't dare. Without the mortal drawing the demon you'll find that the creature will have a difficult time locating your precious city which should make keeping it away far easier. Isn't that what you want?"

Elijah frowned, lowering his eyes in consideration and the Witch took a bowl from the floor, placing it on the table between them. She scattered oregano leaves inside and set them burning with a flick of her finger. The pungent scent quickly filled the room, cloying when it mixed with the aromas of other burning herbs.

"I cannot cast the necessary spell from here," the Witch said. "I will need to meet this unfortunate mortal who drew a demon and work my magic directly upon her."

"No."

Elijah didn't even think to consider. He wanted Rachel to have no part of the Bone Witch's manipulation. The Witch could be trusted to hold her end of any bargain she made, but she could not be trusted with something as rare and precious as a soul-mate. There was too much power in the soul-bond and it could be leeched away by those who knew how. It was a fount of white energy that would fuel the Bone Witch forever if she could tap into it. She would not sense that power inside of _**him**_, because his immortality would hide it so long as she didn't look too deeply. But in Rachel, who did not already possess an infinite source of life inside of her? The Witch would recognize the soul-mate bond on sight.

"This is not negotiable, Elijah," the Witch insisted, frowning to show her displeasure. "The magic must be preformed directly on the branded mortal. This is not a spell that can be _**sent**_ to an individual target."

Elijah's dark eyes smoldered, churning dangerously. They caught the candlelight, igniting like black fire in a way that was far less deliberate than in the Bone Witch's green gaze and yet from Elijah it was so much more striking. The Witch was not unaffected by it. Her breath caught, eyes widening.

Elijah said, "It would seem I've wasted my time."

He stood, deftly re-buttoning the front of his suit jacket and prepared to leave. A part of him wondered how far from the lake in Louisiana they had moved as the Witch's house followed the point of "True Midnight" across the globe. Alarmed, the Bone Witch stood and shot around the table to stop him from going. She placed both hands flat on his chest. She was so tall that standing toe-to-toe with him she was able to look him straight in the eye.

"What is wasted time, to an immortal? Stay awhile," she pleaded.

Elijah was not amused. He certainly wasn't interested in staying for her company. The Bone Witch tried to tempt him by tracing a finger over his cheek, following the line down his throat. A hint of dangerous excitement in the way she lingered over his pulse. She pressed her body to his, so warm and soft and eager. Elijah waited for the inevitable stirring. For desire to claw at him and to his surprise, he found himself turning cold instead. He was annoyed, not aroused. He might have felt some desire before; memory and the sight of her in front of him stirring the emotion but now that she was touching him, offering herself, she only made him uncomfortable. He didn't want her hands on him.

Some of it must have shown in his expression because the Witch pressed herself harder against him, struggling to elicit some sort of response. Nothing.

She hissed, irritated and backed away. The green of her eyes lit with temper. "What's wrong with you?"

"Perhaps I've simply lost interest," Elijah offered.

CRACK!

She struck him so quickly, a blur of speed beyond even _**his**_ ability to avoid. His face stung, head ringing from the strength of the blow. The Witch's eyes blazed with insulted fury. Elijah did not lift his hand to touch where she'd hit him. He just watched the Witch. Waiting for her to decide what would come next.

"I will free the human from the demon," the Bone Witch snarled. "But I must have access to her physical self. No tricks, Elijah. No games. I swear it."

For a moment Elijah was confused by her continued bargaining after their . . . disagreement. Then he understood. He sighed.

"I will take you to her," he allowed. "And you will weaken the demon brands. You will _**not**_ place your own on her. You will do _**nothing**_ to harm her. And when you're done, you will _**not**_ bargain with the demon who branded her should the creature think to seek you out."

"Agreed," the Bone Witch said with a twisted smile.

Elijah waited, knowing what was coming.

"In exchange for my very generous help, I want your essence."

There it was. Elijah had to swallow another annoyed sigh. "No."

The Witch tossed her head, allowing her long hair to swing seductively over her shoulders and pursed her lips into a pout. "No? Don't be frightened, Elijah. I can guarantee you would enjoy it. You would have to, to give me what I want from you."

"I said no," Elijah would not be swayed.

The Bone Witch sensed his resolve and snickered. "The last time you came to me, you were not quite so unwilling. You were in love with another back then, too, remember? Poor girl. Such a tragic history. But you know I did not deceive you then, and I am certainly not deceiving you now, my love."

Five hundred years ago, he'd bargained to save the life of a girl from Bulgaria. A girl with large, haunted eyes. Lost and alone in a strange land. He'd wanted so desperately to protect her and had thought himself in love with her. But Rachel was not . . . this was different.

"Ask for something else," Elijah insisted. "Or else our transaction is over."

_And you will not see me again . . ._ Elijah did not dare say _**that**_ part out loud.

The Bone Witch reached up and curled her fingers in his hair, crooning softly. "You are beautiful. Perfect. Alright, my love. I will surrender, but only this once. I demand only blood in payment for my services."

Blood.

The Bone Witch moved away and pulled a crystal glass decanter from a shelf. "Fill this with your blood, and we have a contract."

Elijah shivered. The Witch was angry with him, to be asking for such a costly payment. His blood could be used for any number of things. Dark magic and spells that regular witches would have been horrified to discover even existed.

The Bone Witch was watching him, fairly licking her lips in anticipation. Waiting for him to pay her for her service, or else refuse and leave here with nothing. Snarling, Elijah allowed his fangs to descend. He tore into his own wrist, leaving his teeth in the wound to hold it open as he leaned over the decanter and let his blood pour out.


	24. Chapter 23 - Don't Make Plans

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 23**

**DON'T MAKE PLANS**

* * *

"The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it."

– **Flannery O'Connor**

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I skipped down the stairs, not wanting to spend more time in the well-lit but still creepy stairwell than I needed to. The weight of my book bag hanging off one shoulder was heavier than I would have liked; the strap digging into my skin. I wasn't bringing everything I needed for school on the first day. There was too much to carry all at once. I'd bring the rest of what I needed tomorrow. Despite this, my backpack did feel as if I could have left just a few more things behind.

It was early. Really early. Classes didn't start until five past eight, but I knew that I would need to meet with the school's vice principle before that so I was leaving much earlier than was needed to get there. And I would walk. My old school in Seattle had been too far from my house to hoof it. I was used to taking the bus. I wondered what it would be like to have to walk every single day. I was actually kind of looking forward to it. I used to run in the mornings, but that stopped shortly after my cousin was reported Missing. I just couldn't find the will to motivate for it anymore. Worry for what might have been happening to her, coupled with the very real fear that she was gone forever . . . I just lost interest in my morning jogs. Instead, I would lie in bed for as long as I could get away with it, drowsily staring at the sky through my bedroom window.

It would be nice, I thought, to get some of that back. Get the blood pumping; the endorphin rush to help me take whatever the day threw at me. If nothing else, it would help to wake me up. I was finding it hard to get good sleep here, and I was really starting to feel it. This lethargy that dragged so that by noon all I wanted was to drop face first back into bed.

Outside the weather was pleasant, if gray. An overcast morning with a slight charge in the cool breeze that hinted at rain later. My skin prickled and I shivered with pleasure. I was excited! I actually . . . _**wanted**_ to start school today. A smidgen of normality in my otherwise chaotic life.

I had only just started down the street, walking briskly but not really hurrying. Grains of sand pushed by the breeze rippled over the asphalt. That same wind lifted my hair off my shoulders, tangling the strands. A familiar warmth danced over my skin and a voice called, "Rachel."

"Elijah," I breathed, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I spun around, knowing exactly where he was without any need to look. And of course, that soft soul-mate awareness that always seemed to tug in whatever direction he was in was right. Elijah wasn't standing still, though, waiting for me to notice him. He was in motion, walking towards me. I didn't bother waiting, instead stepping off the sidewalk and crossing the street to meet him.

His own smile widened as I approached. Emotion making those dark, dark eyes flash. I reached him and we came together so quickly that he nearly took me into his arms. I wouldn't have resisted if he wanted to hold me, but Elijah caught himself; careful not overstep, it seemed. Still, his expression was warm and sincere and he seemed genuinely happy to see me. Almost _**relieved**_ to see me.

Well, he might not have wanted to come across as too forward, but sensing his desire to be close made me a little bolder than normal. I lay my hand on his arm, feeling the soft silk of his suit beneath my fingers. The firmness of muscle beneath that. And yes, I swooned a little. But then I curled my fingers, noticing how Elijah's bicep felt coiled tight; tense rather than just hard.

"Are you alright?" I asked softly.

"Why would you ask that?" he responded, voice pitched just as low as mine. He lifted my hand off his arm and laced our fingers, passing his thumb over the inside of my wrist. Stroking gently. I could feel my pulse fluttering there, and warmth blossomed in my chest.

"You're pale," I told him. And he was. His skin a chalky, I'm-scared-shitless kind of white. His hair was messed, but more windblown than anything. I frowned. "Elijah, what happened?"

I was hoping he'd say he was fine, that nothing was wrong. Instead, Elijah said nothing. He took my face, cradling me with hands that were a comfortable lukewarm against my skin and then rested his forehead on mine. It was a strange thing to do, but even without our bond I would still have been able to sense that he needed this contact. This closeness. So I gave it to him, pressing back so that he would know I was okay with this. His hair was soft and feather-light. His breath warm on my face. The scent of his cologne had faded, allowing the fresher scent of his skin to come through. A delicious smell, like the wind through tall grass.

I could have happily stayed like this, for however long Elijah needed. Tension unknotting, easing into a soft sort of peace we both felt. And something else. It was the strangest sensation of my heart pressing forward, like it was pushing against my ribs reaching for him. Painless. It didn't hurt.

Finally, Elijah spoke. "I only need rest. It's nothing."

He was lying to me. But I let it drop. I looked in the direction Elijah had been coming from, bewildered as I realized there was nothing down there. Warehouses. The river. "Where were you coming from, anyway?"

"Phoenix," Elijah said.

I paused, my mouth opening and then closing as I lost whatever it was I intended to say. Actually, I think my brain stalled. For just a second I went totally blank.

"Phoenix . . . _**Arizona**_?"

"The same," he said, with a smirk and an implied _'well, duh'_.

_Don't duh me,_ I thought, even though I was amused that he had.

"Umm, okay. Phoenix City, Arizona. Do I get to know what you were doing there?"

Elijah heaved a small sigh and said, "I was finding my way back to New Orleans. How was your evening?"

"My evening was quiet," I said. "Don't change the subject. Elijah, seriously. What happened to you?"

He hesitated, watching me with those intense, dark eyes. So much power there but I wasn't intimidated by it. I said, "There's blood on your shirt."

Elijah glanced down, lifting his arm to see the splash of crimson of his shirtsleeve. A snowy white dress shirt, beneath his suit jacket. The red could not have been more obvious, but he stared at it as if only just noticing it was there. It wasn't a small amount, either. Not just a few drops or a smear. It looked as if blood had just . . . washed over his arm. To my surprise, after only a moment's silent consideration I saw a smile flit across his face.

"It's my own blood, Rachel," he said. He shot me a look. "Freely drawn, so don't worry that I've been wounded. You'll never need to worry about that."

His smile softened, and he brushed a loose ribbon of hair out of my eyes. Carefully tucked the strands behind my ear and said, "Although, I do appreciate the concern."

"So, you gave blood last night," I stated, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice. My own blood heating at the feel of his fingers. The intimacy of what he'd done. "You donated blood. While in Phoenix?"

"Let's agree that's what happened," Elijah said.

I cleared my throat and leaned back a little, feeling way too hot under that intense gaze. His eyes so deep and dark I felt myself melting into them.

"Who'd you make that donation to? The Red Cross?" I asked, joking. "Because you might have wanted to warn them first. You know, being that you're a vampire and all that. Aren't you technically contagious?"

Elijah laughed. A real, startled burst of laughter. It was the first time I'd heard him laugh, and I decided I liked the sound. It was the sort that made you want to just smile and laugh along.

"Contagious?" he echoed.

"Vampire blood contaminating the blood bank . . . an epidemic in the making, Elijah."

Elijah pursed his lips, thinking. Said, "True."

I tilted my head, looking at him. Wondering if he got I was only just joking. I really did not think he'd visited a bloodmobile while in Phoenix. Though if he had, he might want to report that nurse. Amused by the mere thought, I cast another quick look at the mess of bloodstains on his shirtsleeve. His nurse missed the vein and caught an artery. Talk about a blunder!

Elijah touched the strap of my backpack, hanging off one shoulder and lifted a brow.

Oh, right. "Umm, yeah. Come on. If you wanna talk we're going to have to do it while walking. I think I'm running late . . ."

Hadn't expected to run into him. Figures I'd leave deliberately early only to get distracted. But as far as distractions went, I could do worse.

Elijah nodded, understanding why I wanted to keep moving and said, "I'll walk with you, part of the way."

Again, he moved as if to brush my hair back but this time only skimmed his fingers over my cheek. He smiled, my heart fluttered and I offered a small smile in return.

It was past seven o'clock now and the city was definitely waking up. Lights turning on in shop windows. The scents of strong coffee and the breakfast menu starting to grill wafting from restaurant doorways. Employees stepping out onto the sidewalk to erect signs displaying the day's specials in brightly colored chalk or marker. Traffic was picking up. Pedestrians were only just beginning to find their way out onto the street. The level of noise increased and the quiet of early morning was officially over.

Elijah was silent now, as we walked. I didn't mean for us to stop talking when I suggested we get moving. He didn't look like he was ignoring me, though. The silence was comfortable. He was thinking about things. And while he did that, I found my own mind wandering. Like the night he walked me home, I felt very safe beside him. And proud to be there, in a strange sort of way. Like I could walk taller because he was beside me.

Mostly, I thought that it was strange how Elijah could have made his way to Arizona without me knowing about it. I had a damned GPS in my head, which seemed to keep track him even when I wasn't paying attention to it. There was no way he could have just . . . gone away without me having any clue. Granted, most of what I could do with the soul-bond seemed instinctive. I still hadn't learned to control it, beyond reaching to read emotion. The occasional overheard thought. But I was _**sure**_ I would have sensed him leaving the city. Especially if he'd gone so far away from me. I certainly felt it when he left for Seattle that time and his return had woken me from a dead sleep.

Wait. He left for Seattle . . .

My mind spun, completely derailed from its original line of thought. Elijah left for Seattle, returning only a few hours later. A very _**brief**_ trip. Then my mother just decides that I should stay in New Orleans with my dad, finish the year here rather than come home. She'd been stubbornly insistent about it, too. Completely dismissing any argument offered against it. I shot a suspicious glance at the man beside me.

_Oh, for the love of . . . Elijah_! I wondered what else he'd done, while he was there.

Well, brainwashing my family into thinking it was very important that I say _**here**_ was one way of making sure I didn't just leave.

"Brainwashing," Elijah muttered, his mouth turning with a slow grin. Sharp amusement danced through my mind. _**His**_ amusement. I was getting the distinct impression Elijah was better at the soul-bond than I was. He was actually reading my mind, now.

"Well, hell. What do you call it?"

"Compulsion," Elijah said. "We call it compulsion."

I shot him another look, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. The strap of my book bag slid down a little.

"You're not even going to pretend you didn't _compel_ my parents into keeping me here?" I demanded.

"Would there be any point?" Elijah countered.

True. How long could he keep something like that a secret from me? The stronger our bond got, the harder it would become to hide things from each other. Wonderful. I wasn't sure I liked the idea that one day I would be _**unable**_ to keep things to myself.

We were almost at the school. Pacing quickly down the same street. I could see the bright yellow buses parked all up and down the street. Kids and adults – faculty – milled about in the green lawn in front. My heart stuttered. Nervousness.

I stopped walking and turned to face Elijah. We were close but still just far enough from the school so that nobody would really notice us.

"Elijah," I sighed. "What really happened last night?"

Something dark slid between us, a psychic waft of black smoke. I frowned, but he only smiled reassuringly. "I thought you would like to free yourself from the demon's influence. Therefore I traded a bit of blood for the services of a witch who would know how to do exactly that."

Wow. I'd expected more hedging, not an outright confession.

"You . . ." I paused, struggling to think of how to respond to something like that. "You traded your blood to help me?"

As strange as it was to say it, this had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. I was flattered and fairly buzzing with gratitude.

"It was only blood, Rachel," Elijah said softly, tilting his head down to bring us closer. I felt a shiver of pleasure hearing my name from him. His voice, distinct and accented with the right amount of deep masculinity that my simple, ordinary name sounded foreign and special. His hands passed over the soft cotton of the long sleeved shirt I'd chosen to wear today. A pretty, minty green number that highlighted the faint reddish hue of my hair but also hid the glyphs on my inner forearms. They weren't wounds cut into my skin anymore. Now they just looked like pinkish tattoos but I didn't want to have to look at them. I certainly didn't want anyone else to see them.

"When?" I asked, to distract myself from my own thoughts. "When do I get these off?"

"They won't be removed entirely," Elijah warned me. "But the power will be cut, releasing you from the demon's influence."

I was caught between relief and disappointment. But it sounded good, and I trusted Elijah. I wanted my glyphs _**gone**_, but if he said this was okay then . . . I would believe him. Without meaning to, I scratched at my glyphs through my sleeves. His sharp eyes caught the motion and both hands closed over my wrists, stopping me.

"I've arranged to have these negated tonight," he said. "Shortly after midnight. Given how extensive I was led to believe the process would be, I suggest you make no plans for this evening. Get some rest."

I offered him a head-tilt and a cheeky grin, though my heart was hammering like a drumbeat in my chest. I wasn't imagining it. The intensity in his gaze wasn't just the natural weight of his eyes. There was too much emotion there. Emotion that confused me, though it shouldn't have. I knew what it was.

"Elijah, you're the only person in this whole city I even know," I said. "Who is there to make plans with?"

To my surprise, I got a flicker of regret from over our bond rather than the amusement I'd expected. But his smile stayed firmly in place, and not a shadow of what he felt showed in his expression.

"I'll see you tonight," he said.

"Around midnight," I agreed with a nod. "Elijah, I would meet you on the _**moon**_ if it meant I cut the chain tying me to Rayzael."

He shook his head at that. "I'll come meet you, as I imagine it would be difficult for you to sneak out of a third floor apartment. Be dressed and ready. But remember, get some rest. It will be a very long night."

"What about my dad?" I demanded. Sure, it would be easier if I didn't have to go anywhere but I was pretty sure my dad would notice a strange man and his witch friend in our living room.

Elijah's response was simply to give me a look.

Right. Brainwashing. Compulsion.

That . . . was weird.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah lingered at the school after Rachel went inside. Not for any particular reason. He did not believe she was in any real danger there, or that his presence outside would make any difference to her either way. He was simply loathed to leave her. Their relationship had seemed so brittle, before. From the very start, when she collided squarely with him and their soul-bond was recognized and flared to brilliant life inside both of them there had been suspicion. Not exactly distrust but a measure of something subtler. He knew Rachel had sensed the inhumanity in him from the very first second and even though she had dismissed it, a part of her mind continued to churn and pick at it. That had made it so that Rachel had kept a careful distance between them, at once accepting of their bond but also aloof. She had not been able to allow herself to get too close to him.

And Elijah, sensing that from her, had respected this distance. He had kept himself carefully controlled and without realizing it had gone to great pains to hide the vampire from her simply because he'd sensed that she did not want to know. It should have been an easy thing to hide, but their bond had made it very difficult. She was in his mind.

Only, now that Rachel knew what he was he'd felt some great weight lifted from him. He hadn't wanted her afraid of him. And though she reacted exactly as one would expect from any sensible person and ran away from the dark vampire with sharp teeth . . . she came back. She had accepted him completely; in doing so breaking the last wall between them. Now it seemed as if their emotions – both hers and his – were everywhere. It was the giddiness of relief after heavy tension. Elijah was enjoying it, and he wondered how long the high would last.

He did, however, have the sense to retreat to the roof of the large school building so that no one would notice the smartly dressed man loitering outside a public high school and think to phone the police. He had no need to see Rachel to know she was near. To feel her presence like the breeze brushing his skin. He had never been so keenly aware of her, and that was saying something given how aware of his soul-mate he had been before this. Also, he'd noticed where she hadn't that their hearts had aligned. His pulse beating exactly with hers. He could hear it. Feel it.

As a vampire, Elijah's heart _**did**_ beat but it was much slower. Given that Rachel's natural heart rate could not decrease without doing serious harm to herself, it was _**his**_ that sped up to match hers. A wonder. A marvel. They were so tightly bound that their very bodies seemed to understand that they were not the same. Every part of them was aligning – a gradual process but still relatively quickly – but it was happening in such a way that neither one would be harmed by it.

Shortly after she left him, Elijah felt a hot burst of frustration from Rachel. He could only imagine what was going on inside, but decided against investigating. She was fine and _**he**_ was exhausted.

And so Elijah went home.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired but it felt good to be back in New Orleans. When he left the Bone Witch's house the night before, he had been quite aware that time was passing and that her house would have followed the line of True Midnight across the country as the world turned. He had exited the house to find himself in the middle of a small, dusty basin. His first task had been to find a town, so that he would know where he was. Truthfully, he'd been surprised to discover he was only in Arizona. It had felt like much more time had gone by while he negotiated with the Bone Witch. He would not have found it at all unreasonable to discover they'd moved straight across to California. Even further, clear across the Pacific to find himself in Japan. Or with his luck, he might have stepped out into the ocean. That one would have been troublesome . . .

He was glad they hadn't gone far. It had been taxing enough crossing two states getting back.

Sore and weakened from the amount of blood he'd had to give to fill that damned wine decanter made it so that Elijah felt nearly ill with the desire to just lie down and rest. His stomach tight with hunger, as his body demanded he replace the blood he'd lost. He would feed. But first, he would unknot muscles that ached in a way they hadn't since he'd been human. Carefully peeling off his filthy clothing, he went to shower. Turning the water on as hot as he could stand it so that steam filled the large tiled washroom. Water slicked his body, flattening his hair as he stepped under the spray and trickling downward. Tracing the lines of sharply defined muscle. The very hot water stung but any burns healed faster than they could form.

He welcomed the pain, the heat. It washed away the last of the Bone Witch's cool touch. The memory of their last time together. Five hundred years ago, and he could still feel her as clearly as if it had happened again last night. Only hours ago. But even as the thought moved through him, Elijah felt the bright white shine that was the piece of herself Rachel left inside when they met and were irrevocably bound washing away the Witch's taint. It was the same light that had protected him last night, turning desire to disinterest when the Witch tried to seduce him. Elijah was grateful for it.

Elijah leaned forward and braced both hands on the steam-slicked tiles of the shower wall. He emptied his mind, focusing instead of the scalding water searing over the back of his neck. Down between his shoulders. The scent of soap thickened in the air, as the heat softened the bar soap. Elijah's thoughts seemed to soften in the same way as exhaustion weighed his mind. He needed to rest. To lie down and close his eyes, just for a little white.

On the heels of that thought, his eyes sprang open and he straightened without thinking. Hot water rained straight into his face. The sharp, searing burn woke him up like a slap. He hissed through his teeth and switched off the water as something that should have occurred to him hours ago finally seeped through his unnatural lethargy.

The Bone Witch had done something to him!

He could almost taste the dark, rich flavor of black soil in his mouth. It was everywhere. On his skin. _**Under**_ his skin. In his blood. The sensation so potent that he'd wanted water hot enough to peel the flesh from his bones just to wash the feel of it off of himself.

His blood, Elijah realized now. The Witch would keep any promises she'd made, her deals were contracts, so he felt certain that Rachel's freedom from the demonic glyphs he'd purchased with blood would be delivered as promised. But Elijah's mind spun, churning furiously as he remembered every moment of the negotiation.

Bait and switch.

The Witch had deliberately baited him; trying to seduce him from the very moment she showed herself. She'd done it so that when she requested he sleep with her as payment for what he wanted, he would not think it suspicious. She had _**known**_ he would flatly refuse. It was the most basic form of negotiation. She aimed very high with her price, so that when she offered to accept something less in return he hadn't thought to renegotiate. It was not the sex. The whole time . . . she'd wanted his blood.

Elijah had been masterfully manipulated.


	25. Chapter 24 - One Very Long Day

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 24**

**ONE VERY LONG DAY**

* * *

"Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect."

– **Margaret Mitchell**

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Her name was Miss LaForest.

I know this because it said so on the little silver nameplate sitting on her desk. The vice principle of my new school was a very small woman, skinny as a stick with a mess of light brown curls tied neatly back to keep it out of her face. She hadn't said very much to me yet, and I was seated in the low-back chair across from her. My backpack was on the floor at my feet, propped up against my legs. There was nothing for me to do but to look around at the diplomas on the walls. The family photograph sitting on her desk. A few potted plants to offset the ordinary beige paint of the walls.

But I couldn't stop staring at the shiny silver nameplate.

Miss LaForest.

Miss No-First-Name.

I must have been bored, because I was finding that far more interesting than it should have been. I figured that the lack of an actual name could have meant one of two things. Either she thought it would make herself sound more professional to omit her first name – a reasonable decision, then. Or else she wanted anyone sitting where I was, looking around and feeling very uncomfortable in the quiet room, to know exactly where they stood in _**her**_ world: "That's Miss LaForest to you, mister. Now sit down and behave."

I got the feeling that was it.

The silence was starting to grate. She just wouldn't talk to me! Miss LaForest sat quietly, the only sound the light tapping of keyboard keys and the tic-tic-tic of a wall clock that reminded me of the one in my dad's kitchen. I shifted uneasily in my chair and debated the rudeness of maybe clearing my throat. I wished she'd crack a window. It was hot in her office.

"Alright," she said at last, startling me with the abruptness of her tone. "We were able to match the timetable from your old school to those classes offered here. However, your chosen elective . . . creative writing, was it? Yes. That class is full, I'm afraid."

"Oh," I said. That was fine, I guess. "Can I choose another?"

Miss LaForest tilted her head to the side, regarding me with a look that said she hadn't understood my question. I stared back a moment, not sure what I'd said that hadn't made sense.

"Your father already chose a replacement," she said. "When he came to enroll you. You've been placed in fourth year Art."

"_**Art**_?" I blurted, so stunned that for a full second I actually thought this hard-nosed vice principle had a sense of humor and was only just kidding around. The woman frowned in displeasure and I hurried to add, "I mean, umm, ma'am . . . _**miss**_, I can't even draw a stick figure. What am I going to do in an art class?"

Miss LaForest tapped her keyboard again and the printer on a shelf behind her hummed. I stared at the page sliding out of the slot. The sharp scent of ink wafted from the machine.

"You were placed in a beginner's class," she said to me with another of those odd, hard looks. I think that was meant to be reassuring. A beginner's class. Whatever. I still couldn't draw worth a damn.

She tugged the printed sheet out of the printer and grabbed a yellow highlighter. Quickly lit the places that marked the room numbers of my classes and then handed me the sheet.

"I did want to remark," the vice principle said before I could slip the paper in my bag "that you've chosen a heavy course load for this first semester. We here at Cottonseed High want our students to succeed and excel in whatever programs they chose to pursue. I have to ask . . . are you certain you can manage such a difficult timetable?"

Umm . . .

I glanced down at my printed paper, and at the course names typed in bold black. My timetable did lean heavily towards the more advanced courses. And my surprise elective: _**ART-IV**_. That one looked weird next to European History but whatever. I was good. I was fine.

"I can handle it," I told the vice principle.

She looked skeptical and it suddenly occurred to me that when my transcripts from my school in Seattle had been transferred here, she would have noticed the very sharp drop in my academic scores second semester of my junior year. Right around the time Erin vanished and I lost interest in my morning jogs. Oh, jeez. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"I'll be okay," I said. No, the classes I chose were _**not**_ too hard for me. The shrill buzz of the morning bell cut off what I was going to say next. I looked expectantly at Miss LaForest.

She gave a small sigh, clearly not approving of my timetable and reached into a cubbyhole in the wall behind her. She pulled out a glossy white and red booklet and handed it to me. "This is our school handbook. I _**strongly**_ suggest you read it by week's end. Now, you'd best go. I don't want to find a tardy on your first day."

"Thank you," I said, slipping the booklet in the front flap of my bag. Miss LaForest still seemed unhappy, but maybe that was just her usual expression. I tried not to return a similar look – I really hated feeling like I were being patronized – and gathered my book bag and schedule sheet. I should not have been quite so relieved to be allowed to go, it's not like I was in trouble but I left the office feeling as if I was escaping.

I found my first period class easily enough. Room number 214. Not a huge leap to assume the classroom would be on the second floor so I just needed to find a stairwell and hurry up. I strolled down the long corridor until I found the right room and went inside. First period Chemistry. I would definitely be starting my days with a bang; no bird courses for me. The inside of the room was exactly what one would have expected from a science classroom. High, two-seat tables bolted to the floor with little sinks sunk into the hard black surface. The floors were rough tile, like what you would find around a pool. To prevent slips, but also to make any spills easier to mop up. Posters and pictures on the walls, and a life-sized skeleton dangling from a hook at the back of the room. Shelves storing microscopes and little glass bottles with clear liquids inside.

I felt a small thrill of excitement – took a moment to accept that I was a geek – and turned my eyes to the front of the classroom. And there, written in brilliant color on the otherwise fresh-washed whiteboard were the words that made me decide I would really like my Chemistry teacher:

**WELCOME TO ALCHEMY 101**

Alchemy! Chemistry. Genius!

I smiled wide, absolutely delighted. How many people in here got the joke? I did. It was lame, but that didn't mean it wasn't funny. Next to the words was a floppy wizard's hat in bright purple with little yellow stars drawn in. And a pom-pom. Didn't know wizard's hats came with puff balls attached to the top, but whatever. It was cute.

Finally, the second bell released a shrill cry. People were wandering up and down, looking for seats and their friends. I hesitated, not having any particular place to go. No friends here, yet. No one who even knew my name. It was actually that moment, the couple of seconds where I just stood and looked lost at the front of the room that I saw him.

A handsome face, with a shock of golden blonde hair and stormy blue eyes. He was at a table, looking right at me with a challenging smirk.

Sean.

Sean! The ghost who just . . . just up and vanished on me.

My mouth fell open. Just like in the cartoons. My mouth opened but not a sound came out. For his part, Sean placed a finger up against his lips in the universal gesture for _'shhh'_. That broke the spell. I understood. The ghost was invisible. Completely unseen and unknown. I couldn't stand there staring at a patch of air like a crazy person. So I hitched my backpack up, settling it more comfortably on my shoulder and sauntered over.

"I saved you a seat," Sean said, by way of greeting and slid off the stool. He tilted his head to indicate the other side of the table. "I think you'll like your lab partner. She's cute."

It's a testament to my surprise at seeing Sean that I hadn't noticed the skinny girl with glasses in the next seat. I shot her a cursory glance and was immensely relieved to see that she looked like just a normal girl. Not some freaky new creature that shouldn't exist but did. Sean moved aside so that I could take the seat he just vacated. The girl looked up with a gasp, like I'd startled her. I received the same cursory glanced I'd given her, and was encouraged by the friendly if a little confused smile she offered me.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," I responded.

She blushed a pretty pink and quickly went back to scribbling doodles on the back of her notebook.

I shot a look at Sean and flipped open one of my binders. The blue lined paper looked so clean and I was about to ruin it. I grabbed a black pen and scribbled _"WHERE have you been?"_ across the top, then tipped the binder a little hoping Sean would have the sense to know I was trying to talk to him. I underlined it twice for emphasis.

"Did you notice your demon came back?" Sean said in response.

I wrote: _"You were hiding from R?"_

"I'm dead," Sean said. "But I think . . . I don't know. I don't really understand what I am. I think if anything can kill me as I am, it would be a demon."

No. I closed my eyes a moment, trying to process those words and wrote without looking: _"Did R threaten you?"_

Sean said, "Not exactly, but he's pissed. He knows I'm around and he doesn't like that I'm talking to you. He's chased me before, mostly just to scare me off I think. I don't know what'll happen when he catches me. I just know I don't want to be caught."

Yeah. Couldn't fault him for that. Rayzael scared the hell out of me, too.

"Oh, no," the girl beside my muttered.

Sean straightened at her words and looked around. I glanced over; effectively distracted from a conversation I didn't really want to be having. My lab partner was staring at the doorway with an expression of pure dejection. I followed her gaze and felt my own stomach dip.

"Who is that?"

"_**That**_ is Ryan," she muttered, sliding down on her stool as if she longed to duck under the table and hide. She shot me a sideways look. "You're new here, right?"

"Right," I said. "So . . . what's up with Ryan?"

Sean had gone back to leaning against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets so I figured this Ryan-person was no big danger. And at what point did my opinion of classmates become an assessment of their threat-level? The guy was just standing in the doorway, wearing an easy smirk and only one notebook in his hands. A ballpoint pen stuck in the metal spirals. Hazel green eyes scanned the room as mine had done when I arrived. Assessing the crowd, or else just looking for a free seat. Dark hair was artfully messy, like it had been coiffed that way on purpose by a guy who'd spent way too much time in front of his bathroom mirror that morning. I could almost smell the hair gel from here.

"Ryan is super hot," the girl whispered to me, as if I couldn't already tell that for myself. "And super, super smart. Like . . . genius smart."

I smirked at that. "Alrighty. Do we hate him because he's sin-on-a-stick? Or are we hating him because he's a genius?"

The girl sniggered like she'd choked on a giggle.

Ryan's eyes finally made it to me, passing over my face before pausing and then coming straight back. He fixed a look, briefly considering me, and I sat up straighter. Not at all impressed by his good looks or the easy grin. He sauntered over, apparently having recognized the challenge in my own eyes. From nowhere, the thought _'He's got nothing on Elijah'_ slipped into my brain causing heat to rise into my cheeks. I hadn't meant to think that. I was not going to start comparing every guy I met to my hot as hell vampire soul-mate.

Ryan fell so far short of Elijah's standard he wasn't even on the board, I thought critically.

"You're blushing," Sean muttered. "Times like these I'm glad I can't read your mind. See you later."

I blinked, spinning around on the stool just in time to witness Sean vanish. He just . . . blinked out.

Goddamnit. Gone for a solid week, only to show up and give me two minutes.

My attention turned back to the door. Ryan had a sort of rock star swagger as he sauntered over. I averted my eyes, ripping out the paper I was using to talk with Sean and crumpling it into a ball. But I didn't need to see anything to know the guy had taken a seat at the table directly behind me. A second later I felt something poke me in the back. His pen.

I glanced over my shoulder.

"Think you're in the wrong class, kitten," he said. "This is advanced Chem."

"Duh," I shot out. Excitement and dread warred inside me. Did he write on my back? I felt my cheeks redden even more as his green eyes sparkled. It was the weirdest thing. So strange that I actually noticed it right away. He was hot. There was no way around it. A jerk, clearly, but still attractive in a way that made girls melt through the floorboards. And I felt . . . nothing. Zero attraction.

_Bonus,_ I thought sending a quick thank you to the invisible soul-bond. My poor lab partner looked like she wanted to disappear. Brutally uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, was ready to do battle. Ryan had to have seen it. In my eyes, my expression or just in the way I stared back, unflinching. He saw in me exactly what I'd already recognized in him. An opponent. He thought he was smart? I had a mind for detail and a wonderful memory. I could run laps around this guy like nobody's business.

As if he'd read my mind, Ryan leaned back on his stool. A wide smile twisting his mouth and I narrowed my eyes at the promise I saw there.

_Game on, buddy._

First period Chemistry was going to be interesting, alright. Maybe it was a good thing I had a nice, calm art class later in the day.

* * *

Lunch and I was _**starving**_.

The school cafeteria was near the gymnasium. A large, rectangular room that smelled like heat lamps and other people. White folding tables and plastic chairs filled the room, most of them already occupied by the time I arrived. I went straight to the lunch line, figuring I'd work out my seating arrangements after. Standing in line, fisting the twenty dollar bill in my pocket, I recognized my lab partner from class that morning. She was only one person up from me, but as soon as she spotted me she grabbed her tray and let the guy behind her move one up.

Her smile was friendly and bright. Much more than the polite welcome I'd gotten in class. "You realize everyone is talking about you?"

"W-what?" I laughed, but looked quickly around. Nobody seemed to be paying me any particular attention.

"You one-upped Ryan," she said. "Ryan Blake. You have any idea what that means?"

Clearly, it meant _**something**_.

"Enlighten me," I said, as we pushed our trays along. I grabbed a bowl of macaroni with pasta sauce and put it on my tray, already having looked ahead to see that I wasn't interested in what else was available.

"Half the student body thinks you're crazy-crazy. The other half thinks you're crazy-brave."

"So, either way I'm nuts," I said. "Gotcha. What do you think?"

The girl grinned, her ponytail swinging as she looked up at me. I was a good few inches taller than her and it made it look like she was gazing adoringly up at me. She wasn't. She was just giddily happy, "I think you can take him. I'm Becky, by the way."

"Rachel," I said, offering my own name. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. So I made an enemy. Any idea what I have to look forward to?"

"I dunno about _'enemy'_," she said. "But he's going to be poking at you. Nothing serious, I don't think. He's never gotten in trouble or anything."

Wonderful. So he'll be testing me. Seeing how far he could push before I bent.

I almost sighed. It should have been nice to have a normal problem to deal with – I challenged the popular guy and now I needed to pay – but really I only felt tired. Between my demon, my vampire, my ghost and my still Missing cousin . . . something so small seemed stupid.

We got to the end of the line and paid for our food. Becky led the way, weaving easily through the tables and I followed her willingly enough. She was the first person to actually talk to me, and she was nice. I intended to stick right by her until she got annoyed . . . or until we got to be friend.

"So, do they let us off campus for lunch?" I asked, just fishing for something to say.

"No," Becky shrugged. "But they don't stop us when we do just so long as hoards of us don't leave at once."

"Beck!" a male voice called out, rising over the babble of conversations from all around. I paused, thinking the voice sounded familiar. Becky stiffened, frowning, and then turned her head to look for who was calling for her.

She sighed.

Ryan was seated at a round table right next to the huge windows, sunlight spilling in like his own personal spotlight. Readjusting my book bag as the strap started slipping off my shoulder; I hefted my tray and looked at Becky. Waiting for her to decide what to do. My god did I ever feel like the new girl. Stranger in a strange land . . .

But Becky was already walking towards Ryan's table, her shoulder hunching a bit though she was trying to stand tall. She may have been a senior but she was the size of a freshman. So I decided to keep back a bit, knowing that I was tall enough beside her she'd look like a little kid when what she wanted was to come across as confident.

"What do you need, Ryan?" Becky asked, sassily.

Ryan's eyes passed over Becky's face, slid to me, and then back to the girl he was supposed to be talking to. "I think you shrunk in class today."

"I was embarrassed," she said, shortly. "_**You**_ were rude. What was with all the _**looks**_?"

I smirked. Tiny, skinny Becky had a spine.

"What was with _**my**_ looks?" he shot out with a laugh. Hazel green eyes narrowed. Another quick glance over Becky's shoulder. I glowered back, not at all amused. I kept my eyes fixed with his, but my attention flew quickly around his table. All guys, except for one leggy redhead half in Ryan's lap. Either girlfriend or arm candy. Whatever. She shot me a poisonous glare and combed her fingers through Ryan's dark hair.

The others, though, the guys . . . they were all fit. Athletic. Good looking. _**Jocks**_. Not a hodgepodge of different sports, either. The familiarity in the way they looked at each other and were talking to one another said it all. They were a team. Therefore Ryan had the power, here. Backup. We were on his turf.

My heart gave one hard, quick skip.

I wasn't afraid. But I wasn't stupid, either.

So when Ryan kicked out a chair and said, "Wanna sit?" I bit back my automatic desire to snicker and get smart with him. But I couldn't quite keep from turning out a sharp, "I'd rather not."

The redhead in his lap actually looked approving of my decision. I got a small 'good choice' glance from her that was just a little less hostile than her previous glare. Becky shifted uncertainly, her brow furrowing as she looked back at me. I moved forward, then, to stand beside her. I don't know if we actually presented a unified front, but I'd be a bitch to just leave her standing by herself in front of a table full of this school's elite.

"You really should sit," Ryan insisted. "I'm sure between the lot of us we could help with that."

"Help with what?" I demanded, not sure if I was being threatened.

Ryan twisted his finger in the air, apparently encompassing my fashion sense. "With what you've got going on there."

My eyes narrowed. I didn't even want to know what he was referencing. There was nothing wrong with my jeans, or the soft mint-green sweater I was wearing. I looked like everyone else in this school, with the exception of the kids who had their shirts tucked in. Becky was looking at Ryan like he'd grown a third eye. Right away I realized I was being tested. Her reaction said it all. Perfect, hot genius didn't usually act this way. It'd caught Becky completely by surprise.

So instead of getting offended, I forced a sort of unimpressed disinterest into my voice and responded, "That's it? And here, I thought you were supposed to be clever."

Ryan offered a slow smile, not sure of my response but pleased that I didn't just give.

"Um," Becky said. "Come on, Rachel. Let's go eat."

_Let's go eat . . . elsewhere_. Couldn't disagree.

I went to follow Becky, and Ryan was letting us go – done for now – when a voice from the same table spoke up. A whispered comment, something said low but clearly meant to be overhead by everyone made me freeze. I actually stopped as if I'd slammed into a wall, hardly able to believe the insult in what I just heard. I spun around, face flaming with outrage.

I glared at Ryan, ready to chew him to a pulp and spit him out but it wasn't him. Even he was staring at the redhead on his lap, eyes wide. He looked quickly to me, then to Becky standing right beside me. Not quite the jerk I'd assumed. He actually looked embarrassed, even though he hadn't said anything.

"I wasn't talking about you," the redhead offered me; tilting her chin towards Becky as if it hadn't been perfectly clear the insult was meant for the smaller girl. Completely oblivious to the fact that her entire table had gone dead silent. Oh, redhead stood alone on this one.

"I know," I said sharply.

Becky took my arm, her hand trembling and cold even through the fabric of my shirtsleeve. "Rach, c'mon."

The redhead – I didn't know her name, and wasn't particularly interested – turned to me. Her eyes sparking with unrepentant challenge. _'What'cha gonna do?'_

I have no real excuse for what I did, then. If she'd insulted _**me**_ I would have kept my chin up, walked away and probably barricaded myself in a toilet stall somewhere to hide. But it wasn't me. I had no idea where the vicious slur had come from. It couldn't have been jealousy, Red marking her territory because Ryan's attention hadn't been for Becky; he'd only called her over because _**I**_ was with her. On second thought, maybe I did have an excuse. Indignation on behalf of someone else . . .

Hands clenching the edges of my plastic tray, I leaned over the table and turned my bowl of macaroni and tomato sauce upside down on Red's head, catching Ryan in the process.

Chunks of pasta and red gunk splattered everywhere! Most of it hit the redhead, of course. I'd been aiming for her but little pieces of elbow macaroni stuck to Ryan's broad shoulders. A lump caught in the hair on the side of his head, sticking there like a blob of congealed blood. There was an audible gasp that rang out through the surrounding tables.

Gritting my teeth, I still managed a smirk. The entire lunchroom had gone quiet as a grave, as the redhead shrieked and leaped up. Red's look promised murder . . . but Ryan just looked at me. A slow, taunting smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.


	26. Chapter 25 - Nightmares

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Merry Christmas, everyone. :) And for those who do not celebrate this holiday, I still hope you've all had a pleasant and productive week. I can't believe I've managed to finish this chapter, given that I've have precious little time to just sit down and write! But I think I've done well. And I've brought gifts!_

A Red Sun Rises_ now officially has its own Trailer. It can be found on my Profile page. Designed and put together by _**Monkey-gone-to-Heaven**_, I cannot express my level of gratitude and appreciation for this. The Trailer is just . . . wonderful. I've been playing it on a loop, simply enjoying being able to __**see**__ with my own eyes Rachel and Elijah together. Of course, Rachel and Elijah don't have a lovey-dovey romance so this isn't a sticky-sweet video. I really don't know how this girl does it, but Heaven managed to capture the passion, the strength and the turmoil that I'm trying so hard to convey chapter-by-chapter. The video even includes some driving scenes actually FROM the story. And the battle sequence at the end is simply stunning._

_Also, two gifts from two very wonderful Followers of this story._

_Thank you to_** CarlyLynn**_ for her wonderful poster of Rachel and Elijah against the New Orleans skyline. The link can be found on my Profile page. This blew me away! I didn't ask for it, didn't even know she was making it until I received the PM telling me about it! I was so touched, I honestly didn't know what to say . . . I babbled a bit in my 'Thank you' response._

_At the same time, _**City of Books**_ was also designing a poster for me. I only just received it today, as a Christmas gift and the link can be found on my Profile page as well. I was nearly in tears when I saw it. Thank you so much for the present! ^_^_

_Truthfully, when I started writing ARSR I only intended to write something people would like and that I would enjoy brainstorming (daydreaming) about between updates. I never imagined that my fic would get the attention it has, that so many people would be as interested as they are . . . and I honestly can't believe that so many people seem to be genuinely shipping Rachel and Elijah. Ralijah. I certainly never expected that people would take it upon themselves to create posters and videos for my OC and her Original._

_So, to everybody. Reviewers. Followers. Silent readers . . . I thank you all for reading this far. For keeping pace with my story. It means a lot. I appreciate ever single view. Every single message. Thank you, truly._

_All my best,_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 25**

**NIGHTMARE**

* * *

"I don't deserve a soul, yet I still have one. I know, because it hurts."

– **Douglas Coupland**

* * *

_**POV - Elijah**_

Elijah was dreaming.

He knew it. There was not a single doubt in his mind that this was not real. He remembered lying down to sleep, weighed with that damn lethargy. He'd closed his eyes and sunk eagerly into the darkness, just needing to rest awhile. It would clear his head. Only, for whatever reason, he couldn't wake himself. He knew he should have been able to; force himself to stir back towards consciousness from the moment he became aware of the dream. But he could not.

And he very much wanted to wake up. Right now.

In his dream, he was in his own bed. Lying flat on his back and completely immobile. He could not move, though he tried. He was also not alone. The Bone Witch, dressed only in a sheer silk nightgown sat on his stomach, her long legs splayed on either side of him. She purred like a cat as she slid forward, allowing her hands to travel over the skin of his bare chest. Her nails pricked, pinching painfully as if she were digging them into him but unable to turn his head he could only guess at what she was doing. The Witch moved up a little, so that she could lean over his face. A cascade of raven hair fell around them, curtaining them in darkness. Shutting out whatever light there might have been and her eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. She smiled, full lips painted bold red twisting with savage triumph.

Very quickly, the Witch pulled away. She sat up, tightening her knees against his ribs. Almost bending the bones with her strength. Elijah watched her, waiting. Helpless.

The Bone Witch lifted one hand high, her fingers hooked like claws. Nails glistening like steel. With one shrill scream, she drove her hand straight into Elijah's chest. Pain erupted, fierce and fiery and far worse than it should have been. She was digging deep. She moved her fingers into his heart, ripping it in her haste to get at what she wanted. Deeper. Driving to a secret place even _**he**_ had only just become aware of; if anyone could ever truly know that part of themselves.

Screaming and cackling, the Witch latched onto something soft. Something invisible but infinitely precious.

Elijah screamed, the cry torn from his throat driving straight through his paralysis. A cry of terrified denial as the Witch's fingers closed over that precious something. A glowing ball of radiant light; and it was _**complete**_ but only because there was more than just himself, there. That light swirled and beat, flaring with a passionate life that belonged to another. A perfect melding of two lives. Bound so tightly they could never be parted. And the Bone Witch ripped it from him. This was not a thing that should have been taken away, and the thing itself screamed in outrage at what was being done. Torn from Elijah's deepest core with all the force and fury of the universes' birth.

He felt it leave him and it was a moment of such absolute loss. An unimaginable despair. It was a torment without comparison and for the first time in his immortal life Elijah begged for death. He couldn't feel this. End. Stop it! He needed it to stop!

_She's gone,_ he thought, already feeling madness pressing against his consciousness._ Precious. Irreplaceable. Stolen . . . she was gone._

Elijah woke up, panting and with a terror so acute that he leapt from his bed. Vampire speed hurtling him clear across the room to slam into the wall. Bricks shattered and turned to chalk from the force with which he collided with them. His heart was hammering in his chest, beating so hard he could feel the rush of blood in his head. He was dizzy from it. And his chest burned where the Witch had driven her fist. Elijah slapped his hands over his heart, and then scrabbled to lift up his shirt. He didn't truly believe his soul had been taken from him, it was only just a dream, and yet concerning the Bone Witch . . . it could very well have been real.

The skin of his chest was smooth, however. Undamaged.

Trembling, Elijah let his shirt down and scanned the room. Struggling to find calm when what he really wanted was to give into his own terror. Succumb to the fear of losing _**her**_. Rachel. His little mortal. That was the meaning of the nightmare, wasn't it? Fear that he would lose her. That he would be unable to save her. That he would fail her when it mattered, and she would be gone from him. Forever. Elijah closed one hand into a fist, his jaw tightening. He reached for her then, only with his mind. Needing to feel Rachel, if only to assure himself that she was alive. And that their bond was unbroken.

To his immense relief, she was there. She was brighter than the sun in his mind, her life radiating out to where he could feel it searing beneath his own skin. She could not have been more alive.

Elijah frowned as an icy tremor rolled through him. Rachel was already thinking about him, her thoughts fixed, but where it should have pleased him to catch her doing so . . . her emotions were wrong. She was afraid. Deathly afraid.

She was calling out to him. He could feel it so clearly now that his own panic had abated. Rachel was tugging at his mind, trying to break through so that she could speak actual words but she didn't know how. Truthfully, though Elijah could sometimes read her thoughts he also had no real idea of how to talk to her over their bond. But the incessant tugging was enough. She was desperately trying to draw his attention.

His phone rang. Had it been ringing this entire time? Elijah let his gaze fall to the slim piece of plastic on the floor. A brand new phone to replace the one the Trickster had destroyed. It was face down on the rug by his bed, having been knocked off the table during Elijah's panicked flight into the other room. Rachel's mind tugged at him again, pulling at his focus but Elijah's eyes remained on the phone. The ringing stopped. A moment later, the lighted screen blinked off.

He waited. Rachel's thoughts had gone very still. But she was still there.

Elijah was not ignoring her. He was very aware there was a reason for her calling out. He felt her fear like a living thing in the room with him. It breathed. The air thickening with menace.

He was not indifferent to her need for him. It was only that even though he could sense his soul-mate he didn't know _**where**_ she was. He'd heard Rachel's thoughts that morning, where she playfully compared their bond to a GPS. The idea had been fleeting, an uncensored thought that had slipped through while she was distracted and it had amused him to realize she wasn't wrong. The soul-bond worked in a straight line. Unlike following a scent, it would not tell him where she had been. It should tell him where she _**was**_. Right now. Right this second. Where was she?

He didn't know. She was alive. She was frightened.

But where?

Something had cut his ability to locate her.

The phone began to buzz again. Ringing sharply in the still silence of his room. Elijah had been holding his breath. He moved, then. Walking quickly up to the little device. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. And there, flashing in bright white print was the single word: **RACHEL**.

Elijah answered the phone . . .

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I was going to die.

What could possibly have possessed me to dump a bowl of warm pasta over my new school's athletic elite? So, some airhead with a stick up her butt tossed out a bad word; scathingly insulting but still . . . it was just a word. If I'd wanted to get even with her, I could have done it with an equally scathing retort. Instead, I dropped my lunch on her. And on _**him**_. What had I been thinking? But that was the problem, wasn't it. I hadn't thought. I just reacted.

It wasn't until Becky told me – two hours later – that I just pissed off the girlfriend of the captain of the wrestling team (of course Ryan had to be the damned captain) that I realized just how badly I screwed up. I wondered how hard it would be to convince Elijah to brainwash my family into sending me to school in Antarctica. Because that's how far I would have to go to escape whatever repercussions I had coming. I needed to disappear. If only I could!

"It could have been worse," Sean muttered.

I had already been aware of him, slouched lazily against the wall next to my window so his voice didn't startle me. If anything, I'd been expecting it. Waiting for him to say something because it was only a matter of time before he felt he needed to voice an opinion.

"No, it really couldn't have," I moaned into my pillow, happy to be wallowing. Bring on the self-pity. It was safe to feel sorry for myself with this one, because my life was not actually on the line here. Not at all like how dangerous it was around Rayzael. Yeah. I could feel sorry for myself if I wanted to. A lot of truly awful things had been happening to me, so if anything I thought I might have been entitled to a bout of misery where I flung myself on the bed and buried my face into my pillow.

Although it was getting a little hard to breathe.

I lifted my face up so that I didn't smother and glared at the ghost staring smugly back at me. "Suddenly, vampires and demons don't seem so bad, eh?" he taunted.

I scowled. "At least they'd _**kill**_ me. I humiliated Ryan's girlfriend in front of half the school. She and whatever clique she owns are going to torment me until I beg for death, and then she'll just torture me some more."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating? Just a bit," Sean asked, trying to sound sensible.

"Yeah," I said. "But only by a bit. Have you been to high school? How old were you when you died?"

My bedroom door creaked open, causing both Sean and I to jump with startled surprise. I lifted myself up onto my elbows and looked to see my dad peeking his head inside. "Who are you talking to?"

Sean shot me a smirk. I very deliberately did not look at him, or acknowledge his invisible presence.

"Nobody," I responded.

Oh, crap! Had he overheard the last thing I said? I hoped not . . .

He frowned a little and moved a step into my room, looking around the small space as if I might be hiding a person in the half-inch opening behind my clothes dresser. I sighed. Spotted my backpack on the floor next to the bed and threw my arm over the side, hooking the strap and pulling the bag up beside me.

"School has a great library. You want to see? I got some books," I said, knowing that would drive my dad right out of the room. To him, books were dull as dirt. Just pages and pages of little black letters. Not to me, and that was one of the things my dad didn't quite understand about me. So of course I would tease him about it. Seemed like the most natural way to distract him from whoever he imagined I might have been talking to in my empty bedroom.

Sure enough, "Um, maybe later sweetheart."

And he was gone. He was even kind enough to close my door on his way out.

"Hmm," Sean commented wordlessly.

Well, at least I hadn't been lying about the books. I pulled two slightly worn paperbacks from my bag and set them on the side table beside my lamp. Moved my phone over so that it wasn't hidden beneath them and tossed my bag back on the floor. I let myself fall over backwards and crossed my arms behind my head. Eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Are you alright?" Sean asked me.

I answered him as honestly as I could, "I'm not sure."

"What does that mean?"

Good question. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. What was I feeling? Restless. Yeah. A twitchy sort of restlessness that made it so that I didn't want to do anything. I could have read. I could have kept talking to Sean, because this time it looked as if the ghost was going to stick around. So it's not like I didn't have anything to keep myself entertained for a while. Dimly, I thought my dad might have already started dinner, which would explain how he'd heard me talking to begin with. My bedroom opened straight into the kitchen so he was nearby. I'd kept my voice down but apparently I wasn't as quiet as I would have liked.

I rolled onto my side, pulling my sheet with me and hiked it up to my shoulders.

"Oh," Sean said. "You're lonely."

He laughed and I scowled at him, though of course he didn't see it with my face buried in the blanket. Where the hell had _**that**_ come from? Lonely? I flipped over and pinned the ghost with a glare. "What?"

"You're missing Elijah," he said, eyes sparkling with amused triumph. "Didn't I tell you that it would be impossible to be apart from him? Aren't you glad you decided to stay in New Orleans?"

"I didn't decide anything. I was set up to stay here," I shot back, bristling at what Sean said. "And how could I possibly be missing Elijah? I just saw him this morning!"

And he was coming over tonight . . . but Sean didn't need to know that.

Sean didn't rise to the challenge in my voice, and I got the feeling he didn't intend on letting me provoke him. I calmed down and flopped back over, pulling the sheet up over my head. _That's right, Rachel. Hide._

"I don't think it matters that you only just saw him," Sean said thoughtfully. "Seems to me that the closer the two of you get, the stronger your soul-bond grows. The less you struggle against it, the further it expands."

Something to think about. Hadn't I already noticed that all it took to switch off the psychic connection I had to Elijah was to deny it? I just had to say _'no'_ and it went away. Actually a little scary, how easy it was.

"You miss him," Sean pressed. I sighed and stuffed my face back into my pillow.

"Go away."

He snickered. The little hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck prickled as I felt the ghost moving around. The passing of a spirit. Freaky.

"It's nice, actually," Sean went on. "In a dreamy, romantic black-and-white film sort of way. Two lovers, longing for each other's company. Could hardly stand being apart for all of a day! Or maybe that's just sad . . . either one works."

My face flushed. It erupted with heat. I gaped at Sean. The ghost was now standing over by my bedroom door, head tilted inquiringly to the side as he stared at the white-painted wood. I caught the slight frown as he stared but my mind was locked on what he'd been saying.

"We are _**not**_ lovers," I shot. "Where did that come from?"

"You're soul-mates," Sean muttered. He was still staring at the door, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"Soul-mates does not mean . . . does not . . ." I faltered, uncertain of how to finish that sentence. My heart thumped and the pit of my stomach seemed to drop out. My cheeks were officially on fire. Heat crawled up my neck and I thought I must have been blushing all over. A sharp, pleasant tingle prickled in my chest. Attraction. Desire?

"Ah!" I placed both hands over my face, shaking my head so that my hair flipped with the motion. But with my eyes closed, it only made it easier to see him. Tall, dark vampire. Piercing onyx-brown eyes that were at once hard and calculating, but also warm and deep when they fell on me. The way Elijah looked at me sometimes, I felt as if he saw straight through my mask of normality to the girl I wouldn't dare show anybody. Like he saw me, the _**real**_ me, and approved of her.

I slipped sometimes, giving him glimpses of that girl who was a little less than average. He never called me on it. He simply accepted it was there. That meant something, didn't it? I sighed and let my hands down, bracing them on the mattress and leaned forward. I glanced at Sean, curious as to why he'd gone quiet.

He was _**still**_ staring at the door.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, standing up.

He didn't answer right away. I curled my bare toes on the rough carpet and Sean said, "D'you feel that?"

Feel what? I froze, listening. Trying to feel something on the air. A change in temperature or just . . . anything.

"No," I whispered. "What do _**you**_ feel?"

Sean hissed and leapt away from the door like it was electrified. At the exact same moment, I felt the complicated pattern of scars on my inner forearms flame. The glyphs!

"No," I said out loud. "No. No, no, no, no!"

The pain grew sharper, fire searing the flesh on my arms and I knew that Rayzael wasn't just nearby. He was already _**here**_. Sean was practically bouncing off my walls. He'd flashed and flickered, dissolving into a smoke or else a fine mist. I'd never seen him do that before but it didn't take the Ghost Whisperer to know that he was freaking out.

Without warning, Sean solidified into his body-shape and landed noiselessly on my bed. Weightless, too, as the sheets didn't give under his feet. If I couldn't see him, there would be no evidence he was even there. "I can't get out," he said, breathing hard.

No kidding.

I turned back to my bedroom door and padded as quietly as I could towards it. A loud CRASH, TING, BANG came from the other side. Something heavy dropped hard enough so that I felt the vibration of it rattling the floor under my feet even through the cushioning of the carpet. My breaths caught in my throat, my lungs refusing to expand to where air could get inside. I was so sick of feeling scared! What was wrong with me? I was stronger than this . . . but I refused to be stupid. I did not fling the door open and shoot through to face my demon. That was not a fight I could win.

So I very carefully lowered myself to my knees – wincing as my glyphs flared with heat – and then slowly put my hands down flat to support my weight. I leaned over, lying my cheek on the carpet and peeked through the very slight space under the door. There was nothing to see, really. The space was too small for me to pick out any real details. But it was enough . . . I caught motion. The change in light that hinted at figures moving about. Quick flickers to and fro. Someone struggling against something else.

Rayzael. In the kitchen. With my _**dad**_! A heavy pot banged onto the floor, and I slid back just in time to avoid the wash of boiling hot water seeping in through the space under my door.

My lungs were seizing. I could breathe! My heart beating as if it were trying to break out of my chest. My blood turned to ice in my veins. Panic. Far worse than anything I'd felt before. It was sheer terror. Not for myself, but for him. My dad, who had no idea what he was facing. He didn't know that what looked like a white haired college-student was actually an ancient demon. A demon able to blow him apart to where all that was left were a few twisted molecules floating in the air . . .

I scrabbled back, off the floor and stumbled clumsily as my legs immediately met the side of my bed. Sean was standing by my window, arms crossed over his chest. Watching me. Weary but calm. Eerily calm, after his bouncing to escape my room only just a minute ago.

I stared at him, our eyes locked from across the slight distance. Just a few feet apart. My room really was very small. It felt airless now, too. Hot. My arms were igniting with pain but for some reason, my attention had fixed with Sean. He tilted his head, breaking our stare and slid his gaze over to my bedside table. I glanced over, spotting the two paperbacks I'd placed there.

What?

"Phone him," Sean stated.

Phone? Oh jeez, my phone was charging right there on my bedside table! Call Elijah.

Elijah could help. Could he take a demon? Could he . . . I thought maybe he could. As stupid as it might seem – what's a vampire, compared to a demon? – Elijah hadn't seemed very concerned about Rayzael when I told him about the creature. He'd been interested, but not particularly intimidated. That had to mean something.

Shooting one quick look over my shoulder, checking to make sure my door was still firmly closed I grabbed my phone. Yanked so hard that the device unplugged from its charger cord with a slight _pop_. My hands were shaking, fingers clumsy around the slim piece of plastic. I could hear my own pulse beating in my head. Feel the heat of adrenaline under my skin. Feel Rayzael's presence like a breath on my neck. I couldn't do anything for my dad, and that hurt my heart. He was trapped in the kitchen with a demon. Dead? I had no idea. I could only hope . . .

But I needed to buy myself a little extra time. Standing in my tiny, cramped bedroom behind a door that didn't even have a lock on it was dumb. So even though it was ridiculous, I slipped into my equally tiny closet and pulled the door shut. I knelt in the darkness, the trailing edges of shirts and pants brushing my hair. Raising static. My luggage, which took up most of the meager floor-space of the closet dug into my knees. Incredibly uncomfortable and dangerous, because it meant that I couldn't settle properly. I had to lean on the back wall of the closet just to keep from swaying. I didn't want to risk my shoulders knocking against the door. Making noise that would draw Rayzael's attention.

I fumbled with my phone, tapping the screen twice before it would even light. I scrolled through my Contacts, searching for Elijah's number.

Stupid. Stupid!

Every time I picked up my damn phone, his name seemed to scream up at me. And now I couldn't find it? I backed up, hurriedly scanning the _**'E'**_ section again. Found Erin's mobile number. Didn't need that. Saw the name of a family-owned Seattle pizzeria. _Why was that one even on my phone?_ There! Elijah.

I slammed my thumb against his name, then pressed my phone to my ear and held my breath until my lungs burned.

Three rings. Four. Six. Voicemail.

I hung up. Despair swelled in my chest. This could not be happening. No. I swiped a fist over my eyes, clearing the hot tears blurring my vision. I was shaking so bad now that I actually fumbled my phone. It flipped out of my hands, forcing me to scrabble around in the dark to find it. The thing had slipped inside a flap in my luggage. It took only a few seconds but kneeling there in the dark, hot space with fear leaving a sour taste in my dry mouth . . . it was hard. Hard enough so that once I had my phone again, I actually forgot who I was supposed to be calling.

There were noises, now. From just outside. Scraping and whines. Like an animal scratching at my bedroom door, demanding to be let in. I swear I could feel the door of my bedroom rattling even from inside the closet.

Bright blue eyes appeared, materializing in the darkness. A ghostly figure wavering like smoke torn by the wind. Sean. His eyes were nearly luminous in the surrounding black. He was just suddenly right there. Nose-to-nose with me.

He said, "Try again. Rachel, try again."

Yeah. Yeah . . . of course.

_Elijah,_ I thought. _Please. Please, pick up._

I hit redial and reached for him with my mind, trying to send urgency to him over our bond. I leaned back a little, wincing at the sharp pinch. My hair was tangled in a button. I pressed my phone to my ear.

Three rings. Four. Five . . .

_Click!_

"Elijah?" I whispered.

His voice, hard, "Where are you?"

I almost cried. The sound of his voice, hard and dark with promise.

"At home," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm home. Elijah, he's _**here**_. Hurry!"

Please. Please hurry . . .

The ominous creaking of my bedroom door swinging open sent chills racing up my spine. I trembled again, nearly dropping my phone. This was different than the other times Rayzael had come for me. I could feel his fury like a living thing swirling all around. His presence a hot white rage; a reckoning. Vengeance. He was angry beyond reason and I didn't need anyone to tell me he was coming for me. Something had pushed him over the edge and I would be the one to pay.

A spear of sunlight slanted into my dark hiding place. I pressed back against the far corner of my closet but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I saw snowy white hair and a deceptively youthful face leering in at me. Rayzael bared his teeth. Triangular, serrated teeth like those of a shark. Sean hissed, but one swipe of his clawed hand dispelled the ghost. Sean drifted away, little motes of glittery dust floating on the air.

Shaking in terror, shrinking under the weight of Rayzael's white fury I still managed to hold the demon's gaze. My own anger sparking. Temper. The flight or fight instinct, having recognized that there was no escape was now shifting towards the option to _**fight**_.

"Rachel," Elijah said. A deafening rush of air followed those words. And through the furious wind I heard his voice cautioning me. "Don't fight him."

Of course Elijah could feel my emotions. He could sense my intention.

My dad! I thought numbly. Did Rayzael kill my dad? Was he still alive? Why couldn't I hear any movement in the apartment?

"Stay alive," Elijah whispered to me. "Whatever happens, Rachel, you stay alive until I arrive. Do not fight back."

I swallowed hard. Rayzael grabbed my arm, hellfire searing my skin. My phone dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. Elijah's voice came through, muffled by the laundry the phone had fallen onto and I couldn't make out the words.

Rayzael dragged me from the closet, his scent cloying and thick. Lighter fluid. Coal. Burnt stone and steel. He had me by the arm, wrenching me upright despite the awful pain radiating from his hand all through my body . . . and I let him.

Don't fight. Stay alive . . . Elijah was coming.


	27. Chapter 26 - Vampire Blood - Part 1

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 26**

**VAMPIRE BLOOD – Part 1**

* * *

"Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time?

My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future."

– **Jonathan Safran Foer**

* * *

_**POV - Rachel**_

Rayzael dragged me from my hiding place, snarling and spitting with rage.

His eyes shone brilliant white. Not a clean color. It was the white of unimaginable heat. I shrank back, feeling that blast of hot light. My bare feet scrabbled on the floors as Rayzael pulled, drawing me out of the closet, nearly twisting my arm off as I tried to use my own weight to resist. I was scared, not because of what he was, but because I didn't know what he intended to do . . . although I knew it would hurt. The demon was enraged. Too angry to imagine going easy on me.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he hissed, smoke escaping out from between his serrated teeth.

_He knows!_ I quailed. He knew I told Elijah everything! My orders were to use him, not to confess all and get Elijah on my side. I wasn't supposed to have his support, his protection. At the time, I was so sure that just being honest with him was the only thing to do. Suck it up, be brave, and just _**tell**_ Elijah what was going on.

I was confused. I didn't understand why it would matter to Rayzael that I'd gotten Elijah's help. If all the demon cared about was getting his claws on my stupid ancestor, why should he care how I go about it? He was so, so angry! And I didn't understand why . . .

His next words cleared up my confusion, and I realized I was mistaken. It was what Elijah did, not me.

"You think you can outsmart me?" Rayzael raged with a furious passion. "You really think I wouldn't find out what he was doing? Sneaking around making deals. Your vampire thinks he can protect you? Ha! I'll show him. Pathetic leech. So arrogant. So sure of his own power."

_Elijah,_ I thought frantically. _What did you do?_

He'd already told me that he arranged to have me freed from the power of the demonic glyphs on my arms, having traded quite a bit of his own blood for some spell to counteract Rayzael's power. He'd bought the services of a witch – and after discovering the existence of demons and vampires, I didn't bother questioning the idea of magic or witchcraft. But how dangerous was this mysterious witch's power to so enrage Rayzael?

It made me think that Elijah wasn't screwing around. His maneuvering was deliberate and effective.

I would have been free tonight. If I'd had any doubts before this, Rayzael being so angry about it was all the proof I needed that Elijah's bargain would have worked. My life, every breath I'd taken from the moment the demon came for me, was thanks to his believing he could use me. But that was done, now. The demon was beyond pissed and I was going to die.

We were still in my room. Rayzael was dragging me over to the door, leading me out into the kitchen.

I let my legs go limp beneath me, like a toddler throwing a fit. Hoping to delay Rayzael long enough to buy Elijah the time he needed to get here and rescue me. Yes, _**rescue me**_ because he was my only chance. Screw pride. I could not get out of this by myself. The demon couldn't have cared less that I was trying to throw myself on the ground. What was the weight of my body compared to the brute strength of the creature? He yanked me up to where I would have been dangling and there was no give in his grip at all.

"He'll come for me," I ground out through clenched teeth. "You know he will."

Elijah . . . I wasn't able to sense him. From over our bond, I could still feel him – his presence a reassuring warmth in my mind – but I couldn't reach him. I didn't know where he was. I didn't know if he was close.

Rayzael tightened his grip on my arm, vicious claws slicing through flesh. Blood welled thickly out from around the punctures and a small cry escaped before I could stop it. The pain of those wounds wasn't so bad. Rayzael's claws were so sharp that there was no tearing, but the sight of my own blood trickling down over my arm to drip from my elbow sickened me.

My stomach clenched. I was really was going to have to get over my aversion to the sight of blood. This was ridiculous. I gave another feeble tug, half-afraid of pulling too hard and making the cuts worse. Rayzael responded by digging his claws even deeper, and now I _**did**_ cry out! The seepage turned into a wash of crimson blood as I felt the scrape of nails raking against the bones on my arm.

"Don't!" I shouted, and kicked out with my feet.

Wham! Wham!

Feet struck the demon, once in the thigh the other on his instep. I might as well have kicked a bank building. I hurt myself. Rayzael snickered. I twisted around to look for Sean. When Rayzael raked his claws over the ghost, Sean burst apart in a spray of sparkling silver motes. But it hadn't looked like he was destroyed. He just . . . it was more like he was only dispelled. Like all he needed was to pull himself together again. I didn't know how long it would take him to do that, but I really wanted to see him. To have him back. Even if he couldn't do anything to help me, I was comforted by his presence.

My heart was going a mile-a-minute in my chest, rapping so fast that it hurt a little. I couldn't catch my breath.

Rayzael heaved me up, holding me so that my feet came off the ground and got right in my face. Lips pulled back from cruel shark fangs. His white eyes shone, heat flaring out of the sockets like a furnace. It was so hot that it cooked the air around us.

"I'm going to rip you open," the demon hissed. A brutal promise. I quaked. "I'm going to slice you open while your vampire watches and then pain these walls with your entrails."

Horror shot through my veins. A terror like not I'd ever imagined. He would do it! He would do exactly what he threatened, because there was no . . . soul . . . inside of him to be repelled by something like that. No part of him would be bothered by it.

"Elijah," I whispered, unthinking in my terror. I squeezed my eyes closed, wincing away from the demon's face and those empty, fiery holes for eyes.

Rayzael shook my body. "Look at me!"

No. No, I refused.

A blast of hot, foul breath whooshed over my face. Choking on smoke, I wasn't prepared for what he did next. Rayzael flung me – actually _**threw**_ me – out through my bedroom door. I sailed into the kitchen and crashed sideways into the set of cabinets bolted to the wall over the sink. Pain exploded, fire racing out along either side of my spine, around the front to my ribs and then up to my throat. Pain following the net of nerves beneath my skin.

Slamming into the cabinets with enough force to shatter bone, my body then rolled down to hit the hard counters, spilling a over a mess of unwashed dishes. One of my elbows fell into the sink, catching for a second as I dropped to the floor. It wrenched my whole arm around. What felt like an electric current crackled through my body. My head thumped on the ceramic-tiled floor.

I didn't know how badly hurt I was, but everything went very quiet after I landed.

Air whooshed in my lungs, inflating them, and I made a small sound of pain as I struggled to lift myself off the floor. I really could not tell exactly where I was hurting. There were aches a little everywhere but something else was wrong. Something . . . on the inside . . . was wrong . . .

Something wet and sharp-scented stuck in my hair. Dizzily, I wondered if I'd fallen in what my father had been cooking for dinner. Then I realized that no. It wasn't supper I was lying in. It was blood. A thick, dark pool of it gumming the floor.

Shock chilled me straight through. The dark liquid seeped between my fingers, catching under my fingernails. It soaked into all the little lines of my skin; too thick to wash away but still so thin that it worked into every crevice.

For a moment I thought the blood was my own. I levered myself up onto my arms and stared at my hands, fingers spread. Oh my god . . . how was I even still alive?

But it wasn't mine.

Horrorstruck, I saw my dad. My big, harmless teddy-bear dad lying slumped against the oven. Boiling water from the cooking pot must have splashed over him. There were fat white heat-blisters on his neck disappearing down under the collar of his shirt. His head hanging down, unconscious with his chin on his chest. Big hands resting limply, palms up on either side of his body. Legs twisted awkwardly, like he was just dropped and left where he'd fallen.

A brutal gash sliced across his face. From his left cheek, where his face was flayed open leaving a strip of skin to just sort of hang there; folded over. The cut traveled up over the bridge of his nose, just missing his right eye as it continued up into his hairline.

"Dad," I croaked. My throat was on fire! It felt like my windpipe had been crushed. I could scarcely draw in enough air to speak. Tears scalded my eyes as I reached for my daddy. "Dad? Say something. Dad . . ."

Fingers closed in my hair, tangling in the long strands and holding me with ruthless strength.

"No!" I screamed, scrabbling on the floor to reach my dad. Tears leaked from my eyes; or maybe that was blood. Liquid seemed to be dripping out from my forehead. Rayzael lifted me up off the floor by my hair, his fingers tangled so tightly and so near my skull that I felt clumps of hair starting to come loose. They were being ripped out at the roots.

He slammed me against the counter again, my stomach connecting with the solid edge so that I doubled over. I pitched forward, knocking my own face on the counter right beside the sink. All the breath was knocked out of me. I ground my teeth. Anger. Terror. My own rage rising up in a swell of strength.

Elijah had warned me not to fight. He'd said it, knowing that I would. Afraid that by fighting back I would provoke the demon into killing me.

I did not care. At that moment, being thrown around with my dad lying in a heap maybe dead at my feet, I stopped caring that I was supposed to be waiting for Elijah. Without looking, knowing exactly where the wooden knife block sat on the counter beside the stove, I shot one hand out and felt my fingers close over the plastic handles of six steak knives. Awkward. I let five of them drop from my grasp and then spun around in a blind rage.

Rayzael moved with me, which is all that kept me from scalping myself as he still held fistfuls of hair and collided squarely with the hot, hard chest of the creature. The acrid scent of lighter fluid and charcoal and hot metal wafted around him like a nimbus. Rayzael pulled his lips back to expose rows of triangular fangs and snarled. His eyes flared momentarily brighter.

I drove the point of my steak knife into his belly with all the strength I possessed. Every ounce of power my body held went into that hit. I'd never stabbed anybody before, but I don't think it was supposed to feel like this. Instead of the sharp, serrated blade of the knife sliding smoothly through flesh, it felt like I was trying to ram the knife through a car tire. Slow and hard, having to put way more strength into it than should have been necessary. And the blade never touched bone. There were no bones!

Rayzael roared.

I chanced a peek upwards, my insides going liquid. He didn't seem to be in pain. Instead, he released his hold on my hand so fast that my head wobbled and I gasped at the sudden whirl of dizziness. And then, only realizing what was happening a beat after it was done, Rayzael hooked his hand under my chin. Long, clawed fingers sliding around to dig into the grooves at the back of my jaw. He lifted me clear off the floor, my feet swinging in the air.

I clutched his arm with both hands, pulling up to relieve some of the stress on my spine. My own weight tugging painfully at my back.

"Are you ready to die?" Rayzael taunted me. "Is this it?"

_No,_ I thought, weeping but only on the inside. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Couldn't move over the stress of my body suspended by a hand clutching my jaw. It was too much. I couldn't take this kind of trauma. I thought I might have been losing consciousness, as grayness started moving across my vision. Gray smoke moving inward, closing around me.

_**WHAM! CRUNCH!**_

The front door blew open, exploding with a flurry of splintered wood. I hit the ground as Rayzael released me. Confused, swallowing great heaving gasps of air I looked around and . . . froze. For just a second, I couldn't believe what I saw. No, my eyes had to be playing tricks. I was delirious because the figure standing there could not possibly be real.

Elijah!

Not in a suit. Wearing only black slacks and the same gunmetal gray sweater he wore the night I slept in his room. When I was so sick, so hurt from Rayzael branding me that all I'd wanted was to snuggle down in sheets that smelled like him and feel safe.

Now here he was. Just like he promised, he'd come for me.

Dark, dark eyes fixed with mine as I lay on the floor at Rayzael's feet. Whatever wall in our minds that had kept me from reaching him before crumpled into dust at his proximity. He was _**right there**_! Only a few feet away. Through the small living room, right across from us. So close that our soul-bond flared making me hypersensitive to his presence. I could feel him on my skin; that's how strong it was.

I heard Rayzael snarling in triumph as he reached for me again, fingers ending in hooked claws closing over my shoulder with crushing force. Elijah's eyes filled with blood as his gaze broke from mine to move up to the demon. This time, it was Elijah who pulled lips back and where Rayzael's teeth had filled me with a sickly dread . . . seeing Elijah's sharp, neat vampire fangs elicited a very different emotion.

Relief.

Also a perverse pleasure as I imagined what he was going to do to Rayzael.

The demon lifted me up with one hand, holding me firmly against his body. My back to his front. The heat from his skin was sweltering. I was sweating because of it, my body trying to release some of that heat.

Elijah's voice, cold and terrifyingly dark, "Let. Her. Go."

Each word clearly, menacingly enunciated so that there could be no doubt what he meant. The threat in those words was palpable. Even _**I**_ felt a small frisson hearing them.

Rayzael snickered. "We were waiting. What kept you?"

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, feeling the nearly imperceptible increase in the pressure of Rayzael's fingers around my throat. Was I shaking? I couldn't tell.

Elijah shifted. Even with my eyes shut tight, I felt his slight motion brushing against my skin. I couldn't remember what it felt like; not being so closely connected to another person. The sensation of closeness we shared was so natural that it was as if it had been there my entire life. It had only been weeks, but already I would have been lost without it. Actually _**feeling**_ him move should have startled me but it didn't. I was reassured. He was there. I didn't have to see him to know it.

Rayzael lowered his face so that he could speak to me, his lips right by my ear. My skin crawled at the feel of his breath on my cheek. "The irony, my sweet little light, is that you die at no fault of your own. If you're blood-drinker had only just left things alone I wouldn't have to do this to you. Him and his corpse defiling witch lover."

Elijah shouted. My eyes sprang open, startled at the bolt of panic that sizzled from his mind straight into mine. Rayzael twisted the steak knife I'd plunged into his gut out of himself, the shiny steel dripping liquid-smoke. Everything seemed to slow down. I watched him lift that knife high, tightening his stranglehold around my throat as he did and then . . . and then with all the time in the world to stop him, but no time at all to scream . . . he plunged the knife down in a vicious arc.

The knife cut deep, deep into my breastbone. Ripping through a thin layer of skin, through tissue into the solid plate of bone shielding the vitals in my chest. Heart. Lungs. A slew of arteries that took blood to every part of my body.

There was . . . no pain. Zero. In that split-second I'd expected excruciating agony to rip through me but there was none. I felt heat wash over the front of my body, soaking into my clothes faster than it could be absorbed and my legs give out. All the strength just going out of me in one hot rush of sensation. My eyes fell closed again. But I didn't do it.

I was . . . no. Wait. What? Was I dying . . . yes?

Yes. I was dying.

Elijah was screaming. Not a sound came from him but I could feel it. In my mind, I could feel him reaching for me. I tried to reach back, stretching out my hands only with my mind. I touched him, but it was like our fingers caught for only a moment before slipping apart again. Like I was trying to grasp his hands from across a great distance. A chasm of space between us, with a perilous wind howling up from the depths. Threatening to pull me in if I wasn't careful.

Nausea ripped hot and stinging into my throat, so high that I could taste the foulness on my tongue. I swallowed hard, blinking dizzily as I struggled to find the strength to move my body. There were no sounds. Everything was dead silent but that couldn't be. Rayzael was speaking again, saying something to Elijah. I was aware he was talking but my ear refused to work. I couldn't hear him.

Just this awful, empty quiet.

I swallowed weakly, forcing the nausea back down and blinked again. I'd moved.

Instead of pinned in Rayzael's arms, I was on the floor. The thick square legs of my dad's dinner table only inches from my nose. Quick fade in and out of consciousness, and I thought that Rayzael must have thrown me. Tossed me aside like a hunk of meat, so that I could lie on the floor and just bleed to death already. How was I even still alive?

I let my tired gaze roam downward, and saw the black plastic handle of the steak knife sticking out of my chest. It didn't move at all, held still by the bone it was driven into.

I shivered and sighed, blood bubbling in my chest.

Sean knelt down beside me, lowering himself to where he could take my face in his hands. His incorporeal skin felt blessedly cool. I was hot. So, so hot. So terribly dizzy. Blinking up at him, startled by his sudden appearance and the momentary wash of clarity as the fog lifted from my brain I opened my mouth but then closed it again.

"Open your eyes, Rachel," Sean said, softly.

They weren't already open? I said, "Am I dead?"

"No," Sean assured me. His stormy blue gaze hardened. "Rachel. You have to open your eyes. Right now. Open your eyes!"

Cool relief broke apart. Shattering into a million jagged fragments as I drew a deep breath and choked. Blood filling my lungs leaving precious little room for air. My eyes sprang open to a nightmarish scene of the kitchen awash in crimson streaks, splatters and my dad still dead-still propped up against the stove. Rayzael had set himself on fire, was now blazing with hellish white flames.

And Elijah . . . my soul-mate. My vampire. _**Mine**_. He wasn't even looking at Rayzael, giving no indication at all that he was aware of the demon's evil taunts as he described in chilling detail exactly what he intended to do to me _**after**_ I died. It was the strangest thing. I couldn't hear him but I sensed the meaning behind what he was saying.

Elijah was shouting my name. Shouting something else, too.

My eyes were open. I was looking right at him, his eyes locked with mine. Dark as ebony. Lethal power, searing just beneath the surface. _Ancient,_ I though numbly. Why hadn't I recognized it before now? His power was immense. He wasn't only a vampire. There was more, there. His power ran deeper.

My sense of hearing finally switched itself back on. As a hollow echo of sound, at first, but gradually sharpening as I focused on that one sense.

"Rachel!" Elijah shouted. "Invite me inside! Invite me in!"

Invitation. My mind whirled. Vampire . . . needed an invitation. I coughed.

"Come in," I managed, my voice little more than a whisper of air. "Elijah . . . come in! Come in. Come in. Come in . _**COME IN**_!"


	28. Chapter 27 - Vampire Blood - Part 2

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ First off, I would like to apologize for how long it's taken me to get this chapter posted! Leaving everyone hanging where I did – with Rachel bleeding to death and Elijah held back by a damned threshold – is downright cruel to the people reading this story! LOL I've been so busy with real-world stuff that writing a 4,000-word chapter has started to seem like an insurmountable hurdle. I struggled so much that I really considered leaving this chapter shorter and just posting it as-is so that people would at least have _**something**_ to read, but I figured you guys deserved better than that. So I finished it the way I'd intended this chapter to be. No lazy jobs from me! Hope this Part 2 makes the wait worthwhile._

_Enjoy!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 27**

**VAMPIRE BLOOD – Part 2**

* * *

"I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete.

It's so f*ckin' heroic."

– **George Carlin**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

_Come in! Come in!_

Rachel's words were scarcely a breath, no more than a whisper on the air but to Elijah's sensitive ears her invitation could not have been clearer if she shouted it at him. He could _**feel**_ the power of her home's threshold dissolving as he was allowed inside, and Elijah didn't hesitate to enter.

With a burst of supernatural speed, he shot across to where the demon waited for him; its glowing eyes flashing in triumph. _See what I did? You couldn't stop me_. Only rather than feel his hands close over the beast's throat, Elijah collided with a wall of sooty smoke that blew apart on contact. Heat and a foul smell wafted like toxic fog. The demon was gone, choosing to retreat rather than confront the ancient vampire.

Elijah did not stop to rage at Rayzael's escape. Truthfully, he didn't care about the demon.

Rachel lay in an ever-widening pool of scarlet blood, only just managing to cling to consciousness . . . if it could even be called that. He would have thought she was already gone if it wasn't for the strength of their bond. She was in his mind. Small. Afraid. But still there and clinging desperately to herself. Struggling to live; to push back the encroaching darkness. Using her own pain to keep herself awake.

"I'm here," Elijah said, dropping to his knees next to her. Rachel seemed to try and turn to look at him, but she couldn't manage even that. Her eyes fell closed, her breathing labored.

Elijah froze as he felt their connection starting to fade, straining as if she were being pulled away and his chest ached in response. Without thought he followed after her. Pure instinct. He didn't need to know _**how**_ to do this, he just did it. With his mind, his soul; a millennia of experience having honed his will into something she had no hope to fight . . . Elijah grabbed a hold of Rachel's fading life and tied it to himself so that she could not leave him.

It wouldn't last long, this was not a solution but then it wasn't meant to be. He took her, ruthlessly refusing to let her go and then sank his fangs into his own wrist.

Elijah felt his teeth sink deep through flesh, puncturing the thick vein just beneath and tearing it in his haste. He welcomed the pain, using it just as Rachel used hers to help steady himself. Elijah pressed his bleeding wrist over Rachel's mouth, forcing her lips apart. She had no strength to resist. She wasn't aware enough to even think that she should. Too close to death to know what he was doing. He deliberately tilted her head back, careful so that she didn't choke on his blood but needing her to drink deeply.

If Rachel died now, she would rise as a vampire in transition.

He didn't want that.

She needed to be healed, not Turned.

And so he forced her to drink. To take more blood than he would have given to anyone else; to heal her but also to assure himself that there were no mistakes. She needed to survive this. To his relief, it seemed to be working. Elijah kept his mind locked firmly to hers and because of that he could feel her returning. Her life flaring brighter, dazzling him.

Perhaps it was because she was drinking his blood specifically – their soul-bond able to recognize him even on some base biological level – but she appeared to be absorbing the potent healing power of his blood as if her body consciously understood the benefit. He could almost feel that power _**soaking**_ into her.

Elijah took Rachel into his arms, cradling her against his chest though he kept his wrist firmly over her mouth. With his free hand, he carefully pulled the knife from her body. Removing it now that she was strong enough to survive the shock of its withdrawal – and that there was enough of his blood in her system to quickly repair the wound. She winced against him, flinching back from the horrible sensation of the knife coming lose.

She was awake. The sharp pain having roused her from her trauma-induced stupor. He felt the exact second she realized what was happening. Startled and confused, Rachel threw herself back against him, hands grasping at his wrist as she fought with him. Panicked, she choked on the blood Elijah was feeding her while trying to spit it back out.

He wrapped his free arm around her waist and held her tightly against him.

"Stop," he said, speaking against her ear. He allowed himself to sink deeper into her mind, hoping that his presence there would calm her. "Stop. I'm not hurting you. You're safe."

Rachel stiffened against him, not breathing because she'd closed her throat to stop from swallowing any more of his blood – he could just imagine what she thought he was doing. Slowly, Elijah peeled his wrist from her mouth.

Rachel immediately bolted from his arms, and even though Elijah could have stopped her he didn't. Rachel shot away, scrambling on her hands and knees until she crumpled against the wall. A relatively short distance. Elijah could have stretched out his arm and been able to take her hand. He didn't do that, either. The front of her sweater was wet crimson. Her clothes soggy from the wash of blood that had spilled out of her. She'd bled so quickly that it stained the entire length of her front. Shirt, jeans and feet. By every right, she should not have survived Rayzael's attack. But she had.

Elijah felt a bolt of chilling cold as it occurred to him . . . perhaps Rayzael had never intended to kill her?

The attempt on her life might have been only a warning. The demon taunting him by showing Elijah just how easily it _**could**_ have taken her from him. Why else would Rayzael just leave, gifting Elijah with those precious few seconds where she could still be saved? The demon could have fought him; distracted Elijah until Rachel succumbed to her injuries. It wouldn't have taken very long . . . but the creature chose to retreat instead.

He clenched his jaw.

Rachel passed the back of her hand over her mouth, swiping at the blood that smeared there when she broke from Elijah's arms. Rachel's clear gray eyes landed on Elijah's face, momentarily meeting his gaze before flitting around the room. It pleased him to realize that she immediately dismissed him as no threat to herself. She woke from near-death to find he was forcing his own blood down her throat without understanding why he would do that, but she _**trusted**_ him.

And that could not have been made clearer a moment later when she squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling in reaction to her own near-death and the trauma it caused on her psyche.

Rachel flung herself forward. Where she had retreated to the wall in her panic and confusion, she returned to Elijah's arms. Pressing herself into his chest, fingers tightening in his shirt, she clung to him with the strength of the damned and sobbed quietly into his sweater. Elijah felt his own small tremor at the feel of her there against him. She was so fragile. Her life so easily snuffed. He'd nearly lost her today and the stark reality of her mortality shook him to his very core. Elijah closed his arms around her body and held her as tightly as he dared. Being careful not to harm her with his strength; he really needed to just hold her for a moment. He even pressed his face into her hair, closing his eyes against the sharp scent of her blood wafting thickly from her clothes.

The blood-scent itself elicited no real response in him. He'd been frightened too deeply by her near-death for the smell to rouse his hunger. Right at that moment, he was only profoundly grateful that she was still there with him.

"I'm alive?" Rachel said into his shirt. She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm alive."

"Yes," Elijah said, tightening his hold on her even more; to where he knew he must have been hurting her but she didn't protest.

Suddenly, Rachel pulled back. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looked frantically around. "My dad! Elijah, my dad? Is he . . ."

"He's alive," Elijah assured her, not even needing to look at the man to be sure. Her father's pulse was rapid but strong. The brutal slash across his face would need to be treated and quickly before the wound turned, but for now he was only just unconscious.

Elijah actually staggered under the weight of Rachel's immediate relief. A hot wash of uncensored emotion she was too worn to hide from him, and probably wasn't even aware she'd sent. Relief. Guilt that she'd drawn the creature to her family. Even fear that Rayzael was not bound to the city, and that the creature would take shots at her mother – unprotected and unaware in Seattle.

These emotions rolled, boiling furiously between them so that it took Elijah a moment to even notice Rachel was gazing up at him, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink as her strength gradually returned and her eyes . . . he shivered.

Those clear gray eyes, always striking, pierced him straight through to his heart. He felt the bolt of sharp pain there, the flutter of deeper feeling in his chest and had to make a conscious effort to shut down the soul-bond before Rachel sensed it. She was already overwhelmed and was only just managing to hold herself together. Trying so hard to be strong; allowing herself only a moment to cling to him for comfort.

The last thing she needed was a revelation.

That didn't stop Elijah from recognizing the significance of this moment, however. It happened so quickly, and it came as a small static-shock though he'd been aware of the change in himself for weeks. This was the day, the very second that he allowed himself to finally admit – with actual words – the deep emotion that had taken a hold of him.

Rachel. His little human soul-mate.

He was in love with her.

* * *

Rachel left the washroom door open by several inches as she showered. Elijah accepted the gesture for what it was. Shaken confidence. It pained him to see this sort of hesitancy from her. These past weeks, she'd been rocked with one explosive event after another. Each one leaving her more confused and frightened then the last but through all of it she never wavered. Rachel possessed a deep fount of strength from which to draw upon, and for the life of him Elijah didn't know where it came from. But it was there.

Elijah recognized that what Rachel needed now was simply to feel in control again so he let her be. She would shower, washing the blood from her skin. Her own blood, but also _**his**_ from when he'd fed her. And smears of the sticky black substance bled by the demon. It looked very much like thick paint, though it smelled like death warmed over.

He could hear Rachel in the washroom and remained acutely tuned to the noises she made moving about in there. He gave her a measure of privacy by withdrawing from her mind and the intimacy of that contact, though their soul-bond still quivered with echoes of how closely he'd tied them together while trying to save her life. But he couldn't bring himself to leave her entirely so while he healed and then compelled her father, gifting the man with new memories of this evening, Elijah kept his senses turned in her direction.

He would know if Rachel needed him.

Steam escaped the washroom in billowing white clouds as Rachel turned the water on very hot. He could hear her fumble around as she went through what must have been all her soaps and shampoos. The air filled with different perfumes, overpowering the lingering scent of death. Elijah leaned on the kitchen counter and closed his eyes, catching flickers of Rachel's emotions even through the walls he'd erected to keep their minds apart.

She wasn't as frightened as he'd first imagined. It was not fear that had thrown her so badly. No. Something else. The emotion was similar but not the same.

_Helplessness,_ he realized with a start. She was maddened by it. That feeling of being powerless, unable to save herself. And another emotion. One he hadn't expected _**at all**_. It was the sharp sting of inferiority. Elijah didn't understand, at first. He picked at the thought, trying to find reason and when he did his sharp gaze turned towards the half-opened bathroom door.

Rachel was intimidated by him.

Not afraid for which he was immensely grateful – her fear of him had been intolerable the first time – but she was genuinely intimidated. Elijah bit back a groan, nearly throwing back his head in irritation.

Rachel didn't know everything there was to know about him; he was a vampire but she had yet to discover he was actually one of the Original vampires. She didn't know his age although he'd caught her prickling with curiosity over the number. She'd learned through their bond that he was powerful and old even though she didn't know the details. And now, where he'd seemingly brought her back to life the question of his power had returned to haunt her.

He was superior.

That did not necessarily make Rachel inferior.

It never ceased to amaze Elijah how some people could just . . . not know themselves.

Rachel was pulling herself back from the brink on the tide of her own strength. No matter how traumatic today had been, he was certain she would not break very simply because she _**decided**_ she would not. There was true power in a will that could do that. In fact, so sure was he that she would find her way back to herself that Elijah had not even entertained the idea that he need to coddle her.

She'd taken comfort in his strength for only as long as it took her to find her feet again.

Sighing, he let his eyes fall open and gazed forlornly at the mess Rayzael made of the small apartment. The kitchen was destroyed. Cupboards were broken and splintered. Smears of crimson staining the ceramic-tiled floor, the countertops, the walls . . . razor-edged shards of glass everywhere so that it crunched beneath his shoes. Dishes, of course. What looked like every plate and bowl and drinking glass they owned had been spilled onto the floor.

This, at least, was something he could do to help. Thousand-year-old vampire or not, he was still a man and it was in his nature to fix things. To make it better. To protect those he cared for. Elijah drew his phone from the pocket of his dark slacks and made calls so that by the time Rachel finally emerged from the washroom she stopped so suddenly she might have collided with an invisible wall. Eyes widening in startled awe at the crowd of strangers moving about.

People – primarily men though there were some women – with detergents and tape measures and power tools. Boxes were stacked on the (fortunately) undamaged dinner table. Slabs of brand new tiles waited wrapped in clear plastic while workers pulled up the ruined floor. Brand new cabinets were already being bolted to the wall over the kitchen counters. A shiny new microwave sat off to the side, it's power cord still knotted in protective plastic. The walls were being carefully washed of blood, with cans of paint being popped open and stirred with long wooden sticks.

And in the centre of it all, though carefully not in the way of the contractors and cleaners hired to erase all evidence of the demon's attack, stood Elijah. Dark. Powerful and in control of everything happening around him. He looked like a general overseeing the deployment of his troops but rather than a metaphoric comparison . . . it was perfect.

He was dressed casually in the same dark pants and gunmetal gray sweater he was wearing earlier, standing tall but relaxed. His eyes calmly moving over the bustle of activity, seeing everything but lingering nowhere. Everything was going as smoothly as he expected.

Rachel moved carefully across to where Elijah waited and sidled up against his side. She didn't protest when he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close but loosely. She even leaned further into him, accepting his touch with an easy familiarity that warmed him. His heart swelled and Elijah embraced the sensation, welcoming it now that he'd accepted his feelings for her were more than affection and respect. More than fate.

_I love her,_ he thought to himself, trying out the words to see how well they fit. A shiver of pleasure rolled up his spine and he gave Rachel a small squeeze. She looked at him, smiling softly. Her eyes were shadowed; exhaustion pulling at her now that the terror had worn away.

"What happened to my dad?" she asked.

Elijah returned her smile and said, "I healed him, then put him to bed."

"Oh." She looked quickly down, but then turned her steady gray gaze up again. "You compelled him to forget all this?"

"Naturally."

Rachel. "What does he think happened?"

"As far as your father knows, nothing at all happened today," Elijah said. "He believes that he waited until you returned from school, prepared an early dinner for both of you and then retired to bed."

Rachel lowered her lashes, taking a moment to consider what she was being told. Elijah could feel her quick mind churning at his words and waited patiently for what she would say next. She didn't keep him waiting long.

"Are you sure your compulsion will hold? I mean, how does someone just _**forget**_ they were attacked by a demon?"

Amusement danced across Elijah's expression and cool arrogance flitted over their bond. Rachel dug an elbow into Elijah's hard stomach. "I'm serious."

"He will remember nothing of . . . this," Elijah assured her, nodding at the mess around them. The smears and puddles of blood. "My compulsion will hold. He'll sleep until morning and remember only what I've planted in his mind. He will never know those memories are false."

She nodded, accepting his words as truth and sighed. She turned her face into his chest, trembling a little though it was nowhere near the awful tremors that had wracked her before. Elijah lowered his head to hers, brushing her hair back from her face with a gentle sweep of his fingers. She hadn't dried her hair, so the strands were damp and cool against his skin. But the morass of soaps she'd lathered over herself in what he suspected was actually _**several**_ baths as she tried to clean away her revulsion of the demon's touch annoyed him. She smelled perfumed, and those artificial odors masked the natural scent of her skin. A delicious scent he adored.

She smelled particular, her scent uncommon but mouthwatering and it was very much like the girl herself. Rachel's scent was complex but deceptively simple.

An orchard.

Cut grass. Summer wind. Wood and red apples.

Her scent soothed him and Elijah inhaled deeply, searching for it through the sharper scent of the soap. He was startled from his efforts at the feel of Rachel's hands sliding up over his chest. He pulled away, curious but she was only wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. He felt another small shiver run through her. She didn't mean for Elijah to sense her wavering courage, the sensation clear as a gunshot over their link but . . . she wasn't quite ready to stand alone yet, though she wished she was.

Elijah really did not mind. He appreciated that she drew strength from him. It made him feel needed and wanted. It made him feel powerful in a way he hadn't experienced in centuries. Not a power to destroy, but one that would heal. One that soothed another and it was a truly wonderful feeling.

"You need to rest," Elijah whispered.

Rachel didn't argue, she was nearly dozing in his arms already but her eyes were clear as she met his gaze again. "Will you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

Elijah felt a tightening in his chest and Rachel blushed furiously as she realized what it must have sounded like she was asking. She shook her head, and offered an embarrassed grin, "No. That's not what I mean. I just . . . I really don't want to be alone."

She heaved a small sigh and pulled away, removing her arms from Elijah's shoulders. He didn't need their bond to feel her hesitancy, her deep desire to remain with him, sheltered under his protection even if pride would never allow her to confess that he made her feel safe out loud.

"Of course I'll stay," he said.

Rachel's eyes shone with gratitude.

_Always,_ he though, knowing she wouldn't hear it but making the vow anyway._ I'll be here for you. Always and forever, my love. You have my word on that._


	29. Chapter 28 - Vampire Blood - Part 3

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 28**

**VAMPIRE BLOOD – Part 3**

* * *

"The worst has passed. Though, I suspect the nightmares are far from over."

– **Elijah Mikaelson**

_The Originals;_ S02E07

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Moonlight shone in through the small window by my bed, shining ghostly light in the dark. It was late. The occasional rush of tires from the street came so infrequently that there was long stretches of near complete silence broken only by the incessant tic of the wall clock from the kitchen. For once, that sound soothed me. A rhythmic ticking that lulled, a lot like the sound of rain pattering the window would have done.

The workmen had left hours ago, taking the confusion with them. Leaving only the pungent odor of wet paint drying and grout from when they put down our new floor. Keeping his word, Elijah stayed with me through the night. When I asked for him to stay, I never meant that he should stay with me in my bed but that's how we ended up. It was predictably awkward at first. I'd scooted to the edge of the bed, crossing my arms over my stomach and lying stiffly next to him. Elijah didn't seem any more comfortable than I was, but he refused to move.

We lay there together, staring up at the ceiling of my little room. My heart was racing and I knew he could hear it. That only seemed to heighten the tension between us. But I couldn't help it. Lying there with him felt forbidden and dangerous but exciting, too. His lukewarm skin didn't give off heat like it would if he were human, so it never got uncomfortably warm under the covers.

It could have been everything that had happened today, from the stress of the scene I made in the school lunchroom to thinking my dad was dead to almost dying myself but I couldn't slow my mind down enough to rest, even though I knew I needed it. I was exhausted.

A strained silence descended between Elijah and I, and I ran my fingers over the edge of the blanket. A small laugh bubbled out of me, "Well, this is awkward."

I glanced quickly up at him, lying so close and found that he was already looking at me. His expression unreadable in the dark.

"What happened today," he said. "You could have been killed, so easily."

"I nearly was," I said, my brief burst of humor evaporating. _**There**_ was a memory I wholeheartedly did not want. I'd known that I was dying. I could actually feel myself tottering on the edge of what felt like a precipice. A frightening darkness on one side, but so much pain waiting for me on the other. Knowing how close I'd come to falling over into that fathomless black scared me more than anything. I had been _**right there**_. It was over for me and then . . . it just wasn't.

I remembered that part, too. Something infinitely stronger than I was had grabbed hold of me, ruthlessly locked me to his side so that I was forced to endure the bright, harsh pain of life seeping back into my body. I shivered at the memory.

I don't know how much of that Elijah overheard me thinking, but he sighed softly and rolled onto his side, bringing our bodies even closer together.

"_**I**_ nearly lost you," he said. His eyes bottomless as that infinite darkness, but oh so much warmer. They gleamed in the half-light spilling in from the window at his back. _Black fire,_ I thought numbly. They smoldered with a heat that seared my skin but it was one that would never hurt. I also turned over so that I could face him properly and folded my hands between us. So near now that the natural scent of his skin filled my head with every breath until it was like I was drinking it in. Dark, dark soil and pine resin and the musk of a forest after the rain.

I swallowed hard, tasting his scent on my tongue and shivered at the surge of hot desire coiling deep in my belly.

_Goddammit, Sean!_ I raged at the ghost. He was the one who'd planted the idea of soul-mates and lovers. I hadn't given it much thought, because immediately afterwards Rayzael arrived and things got messy but the idea was definitely dancing in my brain, now. Taunting me with the implications of exactly what soul-mates could be. My stomach tightened even more, and a delicious shiver rolled through me. It took superhuman effort to shut it down, but I needed to focus. To set my mind and ask the question that actually mattered. "So what happens now?"

Elijah didn't say anything for a while, which was fine. I could sense him considering his answer before responding. But Elijah did actually have an answer for me. He said, "I've arranged to have the power in your glyphs negated, which will free you from the worst of the demon's influence. It will happen tonight."

"Yes," I said. "But what does it matter? Rayzael knows where I am. He knows where I live. He knows about you, about my family . . ."

"He doesn't know very much about you at all," Elijah denied. I frowned, but he only slid his hands between us. He passed his thumb over the inside of my wrists, and his touch heated in my blood. I shook my head.

"Elijah."

He said, "The greatest weapon in the demon's arsenal is its ability to make you believe it's more powerful than it truly is. Whatever power the creature has must be drawn from you. Your demon is not a corporeal being. The glyphs cut into your skin are anchors, tying the creature to you. Remove them and the creature has nothing to use to pull itself to any specific point. And it cannot use your own strengths against you."

It took my mind only a nanosecond to process what I'd heard. Ohmygod. I leaned even closer to Elijah, very interested in what I was being told. He smiled lightly, sensing my eagerness but waited for me to verify what I thought he was saying.

"Rayzael's using the glyphs to channel my strength into himself?"

"That," Elijah agreed with a small nod "but as I said, the creature is not a corporeal being. It might appear solid but it has not fully entered our plane and because of that, something as simple as returning to a known location would be a monumental effort without the glyphs anchoring itself to you. You see, the demon is not actually traveling to your home or any other place in search of you. It only just pulls itself to where you are at any given moment."

I closed my eyes and turned my face into my pillow for a moment, unwilling to accept that the demon did more than just brand me as his property by cutting those glyphs into my arms. He'd bound himself to me in a way that was eerily similar to the soul-bond I shared with Elijah. _Similar,_ I thought numbly, _but oh so different!_ What Rayzael had done was a mockery. A perverse joke to the clean, radiant shine of a soul-mate bond.

"What'll happen to us, Elijah?" I whispered into my pillow. Taking the coward's way out of having to look at him while asking that question. "You can't protect me forever."

To my surprise, I felt a flurry of amusement sparkling over the bond.

"Technically I _**can**_," Elijah said, laughing at the careless phrasing of that statement.

I took a breath and turned my face out of the pillow, fixing him with my gaze. Elijah only looked back, smiling his small, crooked smile. Just a slight pull at the corners of his mouth. Moonlight and the shine from streetlights outside highlighting the dips and planes of his face in subtle but striking detail. Darkly masculine, with strong lines and the firm bones of his cheeks. A nearly intoxicating handsomeness. He was at once almost aristocrat but with a fierceness that was all warrior.

"No," I said softly. "No, Elijah. You really can't protect me forever."

It wasn't fair to him. He didn't deserve to have to stand in front of me and take the worst of what Rayzael had to offer, but I knew that he would. Steadfast and strong, Elijah would never waver because that's who he was. I could depend on him. But it still wasn't right.

A bolt of tension whipped between us, like a crack of lighting.

My will crashing into his. Well, that was new . . .

"Hush," Elijah murmured, his hand finding mine again. I laced my fingers through his, letting him draw me in even if our bodies didn't move any nearer. The crackling energy zipping between us died down. I was sure Elijah intended to sooth me and I was so tired that I would probably have let him. Instead, he said, "What do you want to do?"

No argument. No debate over my refusal to sit back and shelter beneath his protection. What did _**I**_ want to do? It wasn't a challenge. He was asking me. Willing to hear me and that meant something. It meant so much to me that he would even think to ask.

"We fight back," I told him. "Removing the glyphs makes sense, but you have to see where this is going. We can't just wait until Rayzael does something and then deal with it as it comes. He moves, we move? No."

"You want to take this fight to him," Elijah mused. "Draw him out? To what end?"

"Not draw him out, exactly," I said. "You're right. To what end? We can't beat him. Can't kill him. Can't really even drive him off. I'm just saying . . ." crap. What was I saying? ". . . we need to stop playing his game."

Elijah was silent for a while. His gaze locked with mine, unwavering. He did not look away and I could see the quick, hard calculation of his mind deepening in his eyes. "Ideas?"

"I want to start searching for my ancestor," I said, bluntly.

Elijah smirked. "Thomas."

I nodded, prepared to explain my reasoning but Elijah was sharp. He'd already figured it out.

"So long as _**we**_ have him, the demon does not."

Relieved that he understood, I said, "It's what Rayzael wants most. He doesn't care about me, or you or anyone else. He wants Thomas. So we find him and keep him. Ironic, really, since finding him is exactly what Rayzael wanted from me to start with."

"Any plans for what we do once we have this wayward ancestor of yours?" Elijah asked with just a touch of humor coloring his voice. Oh, he liked the idea of screwing with Rayzael alright.

"Um, yeah. Beyond that, I dunno," I said. Took a breath and let it out on a sigh, "But it's not like we're going to stumble onto this Thomas guy tomorrow, so we have time. Come up with a better plan. I'm tired."

"I know. Close your eyes."

I wanted to. My eyes burned with exhaustion. I was so, so tired I didn't even know how much of what I'd said made sense but Elijah was here with me now and it would be okay to just shut down for a little while. Rest.

He didn't let me go, though. Elijah moved a little, settling himself more comfortable and took me into his arms. I stiffened for a second, startled by his forwardness and . . . yes, flustered. Such a girlish response, but it was like a dozen butterflies in my stomach had taken flight all at once. His arms were strong around me, safe, demanding nothing and I relaxed, nestling against him. I rested my head on his chest and the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothed my frayed nerves.

"Rayzael won't be happy," I muttered sleepily.

"We can discuss this more, later," Elijah said, just as softly. "Now, you need to rest."

Yes, I did. But my mind stirred with one last thing. "Elijah. The second we start actively moving against him, Rayzael is going to come at us with a vengeance. Things are going to get pretty bad."

"Undoubtedly," he said.

Silence.

Elijah tilted his head down, closer to mine. I felt his arms tighten around me. He pressed his face into my hair and took a deep breath, steadying himself and in my mind I felt a dark roll of dangerous resolve. "I promise you this, Rachel, and if you believe nothing else . . . believe that I will keep my word. I will protect you. Always. I won't ever let anything happen to you."

_I won't ever let anything happen to you._

My chest swelled with emotion. His touch, his nearness, seared me. Those words filled me with a longing that was just overwhelming. My fingers curled into his sweater, fisting over his heart. A hot, sweet fire coiling deep, deep inside.

A promise. His oath. I believed him.

* * *

Elijah woke me at a quarter to midnight.

Right away I knew something had changed. There was a particular smell permeating the air. Strong but not overpowering. Soil.

Not like dirt or filth. No. It was the smell of rich, black soil. As if I were lying in a flowerbed, only without the flowers. Still sleepy, not having slept quite long enough I sat in bed looking confusedly around while Elijah stood up and ran his fingers through his hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of unease.

"What's happening?" I asked him, brushing my own long hair out of my face and tying it back with an elastic.

"She's here," Elijah muttered. His gaze sharpened and fixed on mine, "The Bone Witch. She's arrived to fulfill her end of our bargain. She is . . . the most powerful of her kind – and that's only if she can even still consider herself a witch. She's also quite possibly the only creature in the world with the nerve to blatantly thwart a demon in this way."

Thwart a demon. My eyes fell to the pale lines that were all that was left of the brutal slashes Rayzael had cut into my skin. Each line, though healed, was perfectly clear and distinct. Easy to see, even in the darkness of my unlit room. Brands. Glyphs. Demonic. I wanted them gone but I wasn't so sleepy as to have missed what _**else**_ Elijah had said, even if he hadn't said it in so many words.

This Bone Witch was dangerous and not to be trusted.

It was in his tone. _Watch yourself_.

There were no noises inside the apartment. We could have been alone but there came a slight stirring. Impossible to actually explain, but it was this sense of something moving around. Motion in the other room and I shot Elijah a look.

"You mean she's here-here?" I hissed. "Actually inside the apartment?"

Elijah said nothing on that. I was standing up, now, too, my heart hammering and he moved around the side of the bed. Bringing himself closer to me, but also shortening the distance so that he could speak softly and I would hear him.

"You'll need to trust me, here," Elijah said. "Say nothing to her, or even to me, that does not absolutely need to be said. My presence alone might be enough to dissuade her from moving on you, but in case it's not . . . the Witch will attempt to manipulate you very much like your demon would. She only needs the slightest opening, any weakness at all to plant pieces of herself inside of you. You cannot let her in, Rachel. Do you understand?"

I knew Elijah didn't mean that in the physical sense.

A tremor of unease shivered over my skin and I nodded. What exactly was going to happen? My fear sharpened with those words and I touched the sleeve of Elijah's sweater. He clasped my hand with his, giving my fingers a quick squeeze.

He changed, then. Like a shroud coming down over him, his entire demeanor turned cool and hard. A mask; the face he put on for the Witch but not a fake one. He wasn't acting. This coolness was a part of him, too, and it was one I was glad was not meant for me.

Elijah could pull off more menace with a _**look**_ than most men could with roaring anger . . . fascinating. Terrifying. I was strangely proud of him for it.

We stepped into my kitchen, Elijah passing through first and the woman seated at the little dining room table stunned me momentarily dumb. I hadn't wanted to jump to conclusions about what the Bone Witch would look like . . . but I had, and it wasn't what I saw. I'd imagined some crinkly old witch, with a black hood and a long, crooked nose. Maybe a hairy wart on her chin and sunken, yellow eyes. Yes, I'd gone cliché with my imagination and envisioned the witch from Snow White, offering a poisoned red apple.

What was I supposed to think, of someone who calls herself the _**Bone Witch**_?

But the woman who waited for us at the table, her long legs folded comfortably as she flipped idly through one of my school textbooks that'd been left and forgotten on the table was . . . gorgeous.

And I don't mean she was just beautiful. She was the kind of sultry, exotically stunning attractiveness where even other women would stop and gaze after her when she passed them by. Beauty like this didn't exist outside of the plastic, airbrushed pages of high end magazines.

She wore fitted blue jeans that hugged her firm, shapely legs. A soft cloud-white cashmere sweater that hung delicately off narrow shoulders. Mocha-colored skin that was plump, not too skinny, and shone with health and vitality. Unmarred. Not a single blemish to distract from that beauty. Her eyes, green as the moss that grew on the cypress trees out in the bayou sparkled.

I looked quickly away, needing to break free from the spell because looking into her eyes had felt very much like falling forward into them. So I looked at Elijah instead and was surprised to find him staring straight at the woman, his onyx-brown gaze detached. Not at all drawn by her beauty. He looked downright disinterested.

"Elijah, my love," the Witch extended one smooth, shapely hand out to him. He didn't take it.

My love? Yes, I felt a burst of jealousy. I squelched it. This was _**so**_ not the time for something like that. Talk about misplaced priorities.

"Are we ready?" Elijah asked coolly.

The Witch laughed, her voice rich and deep and it shivered icy fingers up my back.

"Of course we are," she said, then to me, "please, sit."

I hesitated but Elijah nodded and I pulled out a chair and carefully lowered myself into it. Sitting at the familiar dinner table, the same table where I'd had breakfast with my dad just that morning. Nothing was different about it, and yet there was nothing at all familiar anymore. The wood seemed darker. Slicker. Like the old, scuffed surface had been waxed and polished to a mirror-shine. Ready for the showroom. The Witch had placed three fat white candles off to the side, nearer the wall rather than in the centre of the table and lit them.

The flames burned smoothly, not having any sort of wind or breeze to stir them. Bright, shining yellow with soft blue around the wick and deeper orange at the pointed tops.

Elijah moved to stand behind me, close enough so that I could feel him at my back but not so near as to be in the way. His presence was comforting, because I now knew what he meant about staying alert and careful in the company of the Bone Witch. She was beautiful, a goddess in human skin but she made me think of a spider. This venomous creature sitting patiently in its web, waiting for her prey to snare itself. She was something predatory and coolly vicious.

I stared across the table at the Bone Witch, ignoring the chilling creeps coming off of her. Saw the way the firelight seemed to catch in her moss-green eyes and be held there, not reflecting any of it. The light was actually captured in her eyes, so that the space all around her body was just a little darker. The woman was like a black hole! Light could not escape her . . . oh, jeez.

"Rachel," Elijah said my name like it hadn't been the first time.

"Sorry," I said, dragging my mind back from its wandering. I cleared my throat. "What do you want me to do?

The Witch nodded her head, "Place your arms on the table, palms up."

I did, acutely aware of how Elijah shadowed me. Hovering protectively; he was a solid weight at my back. Tension coiled tightly in him but not in me. I knew without any doubt that if this Witch tried anything – anything at all – Elijah would recognize it and be all over her before she'd half decided to do whatever she intended.

But nothing happened.

The Witch looked over the exposed glyphs on my inner forearms, her fingers moving over them as if she wanted to touch the markings but didn't want to risk drawing the demon's attention. She hissed softly through perfect, pearly teeth. "These go deep."

"You can't do anything?" I demanded, feeling my heart squeeze with despair. No! There was no one else, she _**had**_ to be able to help.

"I didn't say that," the Witch said sharply, and reached down to the floor by her side. She placed a bundle wrapped in heavy black velvet on the table between us and slowly unrolled it. I leaned forward a little, remembering Elijah's warning not to open myself to the Witch but I was curious. The Witch pulled items out of the velvet cloth and set them on the table one by one, giving me plenty of time to see what these objects were.

They were not exactly what I expected.

What looked like an oddly shaped dentist's drill. A package of long metal sticks – like chopsticks, only normal chopsticks don't have tips sharpened into needle-points. Also two mini dark bottles. A razor. A spray bottle. Surgical gloves and . . . was that a watercolor set?

I glanced quickly sideways at Elijah, but he was only standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest. Dark gaze flinty hard. He hadn't taken his eyes off the witch since she arrived. His attention held by the supple, exotic beauty. I felt another unwanted swell of jealousy, but again squelched it at the look in his eyes. He was watching her like a hawk fixed on a mouse. Quiet. Predatory.

"Um," I mumbled, turning back to the Witch seated across from me. "I think it's time that we get specific about exactly what you intend to do."

"The demonic glyphs are the conduit through which the creature channels its power," the Witch responded, surprising me by answering so readily. Didn't need any prodding at all. "What I'm going to do is cover them with my own symbols of power, changing the original energies enough so that they become unrecognizable to the beast. You will not be released, exactly. But it will render them useless."

I stared and the Witched sighed.

"In other words," she said, managing to sound condescending but not overly rude, "your demon will lose the signal."

I continued to stare at her. She raised one delicately arched eyebrow. "You mean, you're going to _**tattoo**_ me?"

I'd understood what she meant when she explained what was going to happen. It was the whole _"cover them with my own symbols of power"_ part that needed to be verified.

"Yes," the Witch said. "But don't worry, little human. The tattoos will leave no marks. No one will see my symbols etched into your skin. The demon left scars. I will not."

Elijah shifted then, the motion nearly imperceptible but the Witch caught it and shot him an irritated glance. "This is the very best than can be done, my love. Killing the beast is the only thing that can remove these glyphs entirely. You asked for my help. This is all there is."

My love. My love.

I glared at the Witch. Strong, subtle body. Smooth, firm skin like satin and eyes to drown in. My own eyes narrowed on her and I realized quite suddenly that she wasn't trying to get under my skin by calling him that. They'd been lovers. For real. At some point, anyway.

She wasn't with him now and I was sure of it. Elijah could mask his emotions from the world but not from me, and all I'd felt from him since he laid eyes on her was a slow, steady pulse of cold loathing. It seemed to seep into my mind, so thick it actually made my stomach churn a little bit. That part pleased me more than I cared to admit. And _**not**_ because I was jealous she'd slept with him.

I wasn't stupid. I didn't think Elijah had lived the life of a monk, chaste, for however many centuries he'd been around. I wouldn't be petty. What irked me is that _**she**_ had her hands on him. This one female in particular. I could feel Elijah's disgust. His slow-burn hatred simmering just beneath the surface of his cool façade and it bothered me. A lot.

Unaware of where my mind had gone, the Witch was getting to work. She picked up one of the metal chopsticks with the sharpened points. Next, she dipped the end of it into one of the hollows of the plate that looked like a child's watercolor set – but was actually the place to hold ink, I realized now. Then she poked me in the middle of my branded forearm hard enough to break the skin.

It pinched, but not bad. More like one of those finger-prick blood tests.

The Witch wasn't paying attention to me, though. She stared very intently at the droplet of my blood on the end of the needle point and as we watched, the black ink turned crimson. She sighed heavily. "We have a problem."

"What problem?" Elijah demanded.

The Witch said, "Her blood overpowered the ink. I'll need to strengthen the potency of the mixture."

"Alright," I said hesitantly.

She slid her green gaze from Elijah's hard stare to my face. "It will _**burn**_."

If it would keep Rayzael away from me, it could hurt like hell for all I cared. Jeez, I'd already been exposed to the demon's torturous fire. Several times. Was nearly even killed by him just that afternoon. I was no stranger to pain. Unfortunate, but true.

"It's fine," I said. "Just do it."

The Witch gave Elijah a meaningful look. "I've warned her. Try not to murder me while I work."

Elijah didn't respond. He didn't move at all, not even a muscle twitched as he kept his dangerous gaze on the Witch but I felt the softest brush of warmth in my mind. He was there. He was right there with me. Our soul-bond flared brilliantly at the closeness, relishing the merge and I smiled softly. Grateful for this, and for him. Trying to imagine how steep the cost must have been to get the Witch here. Elijah said he paid in blood. I wasn't sure what that meant. Literally? I remembered the bloodstains on his shirtsleeve and shivered.

_I don't care what Elijah says,_ I thought. _I'm going to find a way to repay him._

The Witch dipped the tip of her stick into the newly mixed ink in the dish and then jabbed the end into my arm. Fire sizzled through my blood; so unexpected and intense that I couldn't stop from crying out and jerking my entire body back. The Bone Witch had said it would hurt, but I hadn't been prepared for _**this**_ kind of agony! It was just as bad as when Rayzael had cut the glyphs into my skin to begin with.

White, searing pain so acute my lungs seized in my chest. I choked, unable to breathe. Fortunately, the sizzling faded fairly quickly but I was left gasping and sweaty.

The Bone Witch nodded in approval as the skin around the little needle-prick turned black as it absorbed the ink, letting me know that it was working. The magic was overpowering the demon glyphs, just as she promised. But then her gaze flicked to Elijah and she said, very mildly, "You'll have to hold her down while I do the tattooing."

I tried to push my attention away from the throbbing ache in my arm that lingered too long after the agony dissipated. It didn't seem possible that so much hurt could come from such a tiny little needle jab.

"How much tattooing?" I asked, voice wavering. I swallowed hard and sat up in my seat, trying to force a little more strength into my voice. "A few outlines?"

The Witch met my gaze, then. Her eyes, green as the moss that grew on the cypress trees out in the bayou softened with what looked almost like sympathy. "No, child. I'll be filling in a pattern over both your arms. It will take . . . several hours."

I shuddered. Hours.

Hours where I was held down while I endured the same sort of pain that had nearly driven me mad when Rayzael did it to me for only a few minutes. I thought I was going to throw up, just imagining having to go through that. But there was no other choice. I needed to be released from these glyphs.

"I'm going to need a drink," I said, throat parched in terrified anticipation of what was about to happen. "Or maybe a brick. Yeah, I need a brick and a nice, firm smack upside the head."

Anything to numb the pain. A concussion or better, complete unconsciousness.

The Witch shook her head.

"Rachel," Elijah knelt beside me, intensity lurking in his eyes. "Let me take this from you. You don't have to feel a thing."

I was confused for a second, but then his meaning clicked.

"No," I said, more sharply than I'd intended. "No. I don't want you controlling my mind."

Elijah offered a small, sad smile. "And _**I**_ don't want to have to hold you down while you're essentially tortured for hours. If it wouldn't be a betrayal of your trust, I wouldn't even ask!"

"How do you know you _**can**_ compel me?" I demanded. "I'm not just somebody. How many things are clearer between you and I than they would be with anyone else? What if our connection makes it so that your compulsion doesn't work on me?"

"I can do it," Elijah said with absolute certainty. "You won't be able to resist my compulsion, Rachel."

_Trust me._ He didn't say it, but it was implied. He was asking me to trust him. Just one more time; trust him to take control of my mind, dictate my reality while I was . . . tortured. To use his own term. Yes, it was a good word for it. I would be tortured if I had to feel _**that**_ for hours.

But it wasn't just the pain I feared. The idea of losing control of my mind was something I fiercely hated. I valued my mind! Of every part of me, it was my mind I valued the most. To give myself wholly into another person's control was terrifying. But I'd also wanted to repay Elijah for everything he'd done for me. Well, keeping him from having to restrain me while I screamed and cried in absolute agony was really the least I could do.

I took a deep breath.

"Alright. Yes. Do it."

The immediate glow of approval I felt from him calmed my nerves. He stayed crouched down so that he was level with my face and lifted one hand. Gentle, cool fingers skimmed over my skin leaving a trail of very pleasant warmth. He brushed a loose strand of trailing hair back, tucking it behind my ear. The look in his eyes was very different than when he watched the Witch. That hardness was gone. All that power, the threat just . . . evaporated.

When he looked at _**me**_, his eyes were warm. Molten.

Elijah smiled. A tiny quirk of his lips and it distracted me from everything else for a moment. He was handsome even with his usual guarded expression. But when he smiled, he was breathtaking. He tipped my chin up a little, bringing my gaze back to his and I felt the weight of his power swell.

My first instinct was to look away, because I knew what was about to happen but I didn't. I forced myself to stare right into his gaze as his pupils dilated. Elijah was talking, saying something to me but his words became indistinct. Blurring together. My vision narrowed, tunneling down until all I could see was the rich, warm onyx-brown of his eyes. Their powerful depths soothing, now, and very quiet.

I blinked.

Elijah's face was still right in front of mine, his expression intense.

Resignation rose and I blinked again, fighting not to cry. "It's not working!"

Another smile eased across Elijah's face. "You're finished."

Startled, I looked quickly down on my arms. The glyphs were gone. Completely vanished or . . . no. Invisible. Light markings showed were the Bone Witch had drawn her own symbols but those looked like they would fade too, in a little while. The Witch herself was gone.

I, however, was seated forward on my chair with my arms resting palms up on the table surface instead of in my lap where I'd had them. What looked like Vaseline was spread on them. It felt like only seconds had passed but it was much later than it had been. Hours . . . hours had gone by and I felt none of it.

"Wow," I managed. "You're good."

Elijah's laugh held an undercurrent of wickedness, "You have no idea."


	30. Chapter 29 - Elijah's Hex

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 29**

**ELIJAH'S HEX**

* * *

"I think I've discovered the secret of life – you just hang around until you get used to it."

– **Charles M. Schulz**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Four days had passed since the Bone Witch released Rachel from the demonic influence of her glyphs. There was no sign of the demon; all had been quiet but too little time had passed for anyone to be sure. Rachel herself remained uneasy as she _**wanted**_ to trust that the spell would hold but she wasn't ready to believe it. Not yet. And possibly not for a long while.

Elijah shared her misgivings though he did not think that the Bone Witch deceived them. He'd watched the slow, methodical rebranding of Rachel's arms while his soul-mate sat passively and without pain under his compulsion. The symbols had appeared to be exactly what he'd been told they would be. Protection. Deflection. Misdirection. Each one designed to break the chains placed on a mortal by a demon.

Why, then, was he so ill at ease with the situation?

Ah, he knew why.

It wasn't even the blood-price he'd paid that troubled him so much as the Bone Witch's too easy surrender to his demands.

It was clear to Elijah that she hadn't wanted to risk the wrath of a demon by drawing the creature's attention to herself. Therefore there had to be a reason – another reason – for why the Witch was so eager to accept Elijah's bargain. She wanted his blood, he knew that already. There was something else, and Elijah now felt that some great mistake had been made. He'd known the risks of dealing with the Bone Witch and had accepted them as his own burden. She could not kill him, and he would recover from most anything.

The risk to Rachel should have been minimal. The Witch had no real interest in humans – only their bones and never from those who were still living. But Rachel had become of immense interest to the Bone Witch when she became aware of the soul-mate shine; that invisible light that only they themselves could see. Elijah had not been able to hide it from the Witch as he believed he could. The Witch had looked too deeply. Seen far too much.

It had been days since that night and Elijah still felt ill.

A rather unpleasant sensation. One that was so mild he might not have even noticed it had he not been so unaccustomed to feeling sick.

Despite this, Elijah had flatly refused to let Rachel be. So little time had passed since her rebranding that even if the Witch did not take shots at her, the demon would. The safest place out of his sight was during the day while she was at her school, surrounded by her peers and the scattering of adolescent witches who were enrolled there. And that was the only time he left her alone to return to the compound so that he might rest and feed.

Or try to feed, at least.

He was starving and Elijah had finally begun to suspect he knew what the Bone Witch had done to him with the blood he'd given to her. Dark magic. A rather unimpressive spell, considering . . . a regular witch with power could have done the same. Which meant that probably wasn't all there was to her trickery and he would have to wait and see.

* * *

Elijah followed the man in the gray coat from where he first sighted him on Royal Street all the way down to the riverwalk, which was a brick-paved path following the curvature of the river through the French Quarter and beyond. The walk was crowded in the early afternoon, with the sun shining brilliantly in a clear blue sky. The day was warm for September, but the wind sweeping in from the water remained refreshingly cool and locals and tourists alike were taking advantage of the pleasant weather for a stroll in the open air.

No one paid particular attention to the smartly dressed man among them, though in his suite Elijah did seem at odds with the more casual wear of those around him. Certainly no one seemed to notice his interest in the older gentleman in gray striding several yards ahead of him. Had anyone bothered to look, they would have seen it. Elijah was not subtle in his pursuit of the unfortunate human who was about to have a spectacularly bad day.

A bad day, but one Elijah intended him to survive.

He cursed the Bone Witch up and down for the spell she'd clearly placed on him, but there was nothing he could do for it now. Though he thought he could feel the magic twisting in his gut like a knife. Elijah's hunger was such that he could no longer even stand the sight of regular food. He needed blood but he could not feed but it wasn't for a lack of trying. He was sure he must have consumed more blood this past week then he had since he was a new vampire and it wasn't that Elijah suddenly needed more than usual; it was just that whatever he drank would immediately come back up. Vomiting was not any more pleasant after centuries, but Elijah would happily endure an eternity of this if only he could just sate this terrible hunger.

And it would only get worse.

Blood soured in his stomach, even while his body cried out for nourishment. A maddening cycle with no clear relief, but Elijah was no fool. As hungry as he was, as desperate as he'd become to fill the gnawing hunger, he knew that the Bone Witch's hex was not quite as absolute as it might appear. She wanted him to suffer, but the creature was as vicious as she was ruthless. Starving him would hurt but it was not true suffering.

Suffering would require a free decision. Some choice he needed to make for himself that would cut deeper once it was made than anything that was forced on him.

And Elijah suspected he knew exactly what choice he was being offered . . .

The Bone Witch used his own blood to hex him. Her vengeance, he supposed, for rejecting her advances and more; for showing no interest at all in what she offered. No. Starving would be too kind; therefore she would allow him _**one**_ source. Only one blood that his body would accept. Whether or not he took it was entirely up to him . . .

But not yet. He hadn't reached that level of desperation but if he were being honest he would admit that it worried him. How far would he be, once he did reach the desperation necessary for it? Elijah was already starved for blood, his vampire nature unforgiving in its need. Hunger gnawed and twisted, churning acid in his stomach so sharply that he could taste the bitterness on his tongue.

The stores of bagged blood kept at the compound sickened him. He wanted nothing to do with them after the violent bouts of nausea they caused.

Sheer stubbornness dictated his actions now.

His body would not accept refrigerated nourishment. Perhaps fresh, hot blood is what he needed. He would have laughed had this not become as serious as it was. He knew it wouldn't work but still . . . maybe.

The man in the gray coat purchased himself a small soda from a vendor, and then wandered down closer to the river to sit on a bench and drink, while looking out over the sparkling water. Elijah followed, patient in his pursuit of his prey. There was no need to rush, now, despite his starvation. The mere promise of satiating his bloodlust was enough to calm the vampire. Cooling that rage to a more predatory stillness.

The man himself had been deliberately chosen. Older, but not old with a full head of oak-brown hair and clear blue eyes. His pulse beat strong and evenly, even after the lengthy walk. The man was healthy. Reasonably fit. He would recover quickly from the pints of blood he would lose.

While standing back, waiting for the man to rise and continue on his way, Elijah had a moment to appreciate his choice of victim. It amused him to realize that it was not his own morality, or even his desire to avoid the mess of a body to dispose of that had driven him to carefully choose someone he had no intention of killing and that was sure to survive a substantial amount of blood loss.

It was Rachel.

Very simply, though he might not have killed the man regardless, he wanted to do right by her. More, he wanted to be worthy of her. If their soul-bond was as absolute as it seemed . . . he would not sully her through his own carelessness.

The man in the grey coat rose; tossing what remained of his drink in a trash bin and continued on his way. Leisurely making his way along the brick walk, the breeze coming off the river teasing through his oaken hair which shone with the faintest red highlights in the bright afternoon sunshine. The man turned off the trail to meander up the wide lawn where tents had been erected. A small flea market with tables of clothes and knick-knacks and baked goods to sell.

Elijah continued to follow, eyes fixed on the back of the man's head. The throng of people pressing in, closing around him, moving and speaking with bodies that pulsed with life overwhelmed his senses to where he had to fixate on only one or lose himself to the hunger boiling within him. He could hear the tantalizing beats of hearts all around. The liquid rush of blood through veins. The reek of grilling food, sweet pastries and other things that could not satisfy him a bitter torment because it was there but it was not what he needed.

Finally – finally! – his prey turned from where he'd been perusing a table of leather wallets and moved away from the worst of the crowds. It appeared as if he was returning to the city. There would still be people, witnesses about as he hiked up from the river but this was what Elijah had been waiting for.

He shot forward, bringing himself to where he could turn back down the trail and cross paths with the man in the gray coat. The man even looked up and smiled politely as they were passing each other. Without hesitation, Elijah hit him with his gaze. Power swelling out to trap the man who was helpless to resist. He was caught.

"Come with me," Elijah commanded shortly. Hunger rolled through him, a feverish heat just beneath his skin.

The man in the grey coat was quiet, fearlessly obedient as he was led away from the sunshine. Away from witnesses. Down through a narrow passage between two tall fences that reeked of damp steel and mud. There, Elijah stopped and turned to face him. The man blithely patient under his compulsion, simply waiting for whatever would come next.

Again, Elijah's hunger swelled ruthlessly.

Only rather than feed as he intended, Elijah hesitated. The heavy pulse at the man's throat throbbed enticingly. Rich, hot blood just there. Starvation roared through him but he held himself deliberately back while struggling to bury the worst of that fury. There could be no mistakes. He refused to lose himself to his bloodlust and so he would not feed until he was sure he was in control of himself.

It took a painfully long time before he felt it safe to move. To lift his gaze to man still just waiting for Elijah's attention. Elijah felt pale and tired, worn from fighting with himself, but resolve wove through him and flickered along the glowing white ribbon that was his soul-bond. He yanked it back before it travelled to far and slammed walls down, effectively separating himself from Rachel.

Though it was her face, now, that flashed in his mind. Her ready smile. Clear gray eyes, very much like glass but with that enchanting crown of amber-brown giving depth to them. Warmth. Fire.

She steadied him. Her light cleansing the darkness from him and the last of that brutal starvation-savagery. A bitter smile crossed Elijah's face as he fixed on the man in the grey coat. Rachel protected him from the worse parts of himself. But he couldn't feed while thinking about her so he put her out of his mind and turned his attention on the pulsating vein calling to him.

He was quick.

A quick slide of his fangs into the man's throat caused a wash of rich, hot blood to flow. Elijah waited before swallowing, allowing his mouth to fill from the pumping of the pulse under his lips instead of sucking, forming a seal to prevent any spillage. And to his immeasurable relief, the gnawing hunger in him eased after his fourth deep pull. He craved more, having been hungry for too long but the hunger itself faded.

A few drops of his own blood to heal the puncture left by his teeth and return a modicum of strength to the man now teetering dizzily and that was that. He sent the man on his way, not any worse for his ordeal and with no memory of the event.

Elijah returned to the compound, fed and finally sated. Twelve minutes after that, he vomited violently as his body rejected every drop of hard-won blood.


	31. Chapter 30 - What Hurts the Most

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 30**

**WHAT HURTS THE MOST**

* * *

"You know, I never much thought about dying. One of the perks of being immortal, I guess.

What an odd thing it is to be here one minute and gone the next. Rather terrifying."

– **Rebekah Mikaelson**

_The Originals_; S01E16

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Ms. Kinsley is the cliché free-spirited art teacher you see in movies, with the crazy long curly hair and hippie skirts and clink-y bangle bracelets. She's the kind of hippie teacher who would take her class outside when it's nice to sit in the grass and sketch trees. I really hadn't expected to like my unwanted art class . . . but I kinda did. And it was all because of her.

The teacher herself was nice, not snobby-artsy. She seemed to really enjoy that I had a more formulated mind. On my first day, I was told that my brain was the sort that would help me build these huge, elaborate projects instead of just splashing paint and letting the spirit move or whatever. And from that moment, I decided I loved this class. Because Ms. Kinsley _**understood**_! Patterns. Rhythm. Even symbolism and expressionism. There was sense in those things. A sort of logic. And these were things that _**I**_ understood. Ms. Kinsey and I were able to meet in the middle.

However, I was told that Ms. Kinsley also graded on such a wide curve that any actual skill didn't really matter. Still I was willing to try my best, if only because I enjoyed the teacher.

I had that class immediately after the lunch hour, and the art room was empty when I arrived. A week at this new school and I only had one friend. Becky and I had moved up from acquaintance to friend-status fairly quickly. But even so, her next class was on the third floor and mine was on the first right off from gymnasium. So there was no time for us to linger in the halls before the warning bell, or else one of us wouldn't be making it to class in time!

Ms. Kinsley was at the front when I walked in, erasing a giant chalk depiction of a pineapple off the board. Hers was the only room in the school equipped with an old-fashioned chalkboard; every other classroom had glossy white dry-eraser boards. There was no one else around so of course she saw me right away.

"Good afternoon, Rachel!" she chirped pleasantly. So pleasantly, in fact, that I stopped. Startled.

So much had happened in the space of only a little while that her easy greeting and million-watt smile was a bit of a shock to my senses. I smiled hesitantly back but she didn't seem to notice how uncertain I must have looked. She went on, "How was your weekend? Pleasant, I hope."

"It was fine," I said, swinging my bag off my shoulder and setting it down by my usual chair.

Fine, in that I've managed a whole four days with no demonic encounters. Actually, I spent the bulk of the last four days in the company of Elijah, who flatly refused to leave me be after my near-death. We'd only slept together – in the same bed, not actually together-together – once, the night the Bone Witch came to mess up the signal tying me to Rayzael. But that didn't mean he was gone. I could sense his presence every second where I couldn't see him. He was always around. And the moment my father left for work, Elijah was there.

We'd mostly stayed in, passing the time watching movies on my dad's small television or else talking. My god, Elijah could carry a conversation like nobody's business. I had never enjoyed just talking to someone as much as I loved conversing with _**him**_. He was easy company. Our conversations stimulating and it was refreshing being able to talk knowing that Elijah would understand what I was saying. I never felt that I was speaking over his head and . . . four days passed quickly.

But something was definitely going on, on Elijah's end. And it worried me.

Something gnawing at him. I knew it was there, because the worse it got the further he withdrew into himself. No one else would have noticed any change in him, on the outside he was exactly the same as always. Handsome and coolly in control of himself, though with the ever present glint to his dark eyes that spoke of a youthfulness, a playfulness that was so at odds with a centuries' old vampire. A boyishness, I would have said, that was full of fun and mischief. I wondered how many people had ever seen that side of him. Even _**I**_ had only ever caught glimpses of it.

No. Whatever was wrong with him was too deep to show on the surface. Elijah was shutting down his end of our soul-bond. I was still trying to learn how to access our link, our connection, but now that he'd erected walls it was nearly impossible to sense anything from him and it was disconcerting.

There were no fleeting snippets of thought. No flurries of emotion dancing over our bond. Nothing.

Who would ever have guessed that I would feel so barren finding myself alone in my own head? The soul-mate thing really was natural and perfect because without it, I was . . . well, lonely. The only reason I hadn't called him at lunch to ask what was happening is that I didn't want to become the cliché insecure girlfriend who clings onto her man like a burr.

Slight exaggeration. I really didn't think I was anywhere near that point . . . and I was now thinking of myself as a girlfriend. Wonderful. That felt weird.

Other students were starting to file into the classroom, prompting me to take my seat. I flushed a little as I realized I'd been lost in though and staring at the chalk-pineapple in the meanwhile. Large white sheets of thick paper were already arranged on each table, at each person's spot so I sat and poked a finger at mine. Were we drawing? Last week, we'd fooled around with a stiff red clay. But drawing things was good, too.

Ryan Blake – associated with the "unfortunate" pasta incident on my first day here strode into class looking like he always did. Tall and fit, with a devil-may-care smirk and dark hair artfully messed. His usual scent of hair gel strong but not unpleasant, though this time he also smelled like soap and freshly applied deodorant. I hadn't seen him at lunch today, so I figured he must have been either in the gym or the weight room. Captain of the wrestling team needed to stay in shape. He'd come straight from the showers, which explained the soapy smell.

It'd scared me when, on the first day _**right**_ after I dumped my lunch on him and his girlfriend, he arrived in art class only steps behind me. He'd used the showers then, too, and changed out of his stained sweater into the school's gym uniform t-shirt. Imagine my surprise when he sat down right beside me at the two-seat table with a smirk so sharp it could cut diamond.

Yeah. I remember sitting there, practically hyperventilating as I tried to channel _Jason Bourne_. The art room had plenty in its arsenal: scissors, permanent markers, superglue, X-Acto knives . . .

The hardest fifty-minutes of my life. That, from a girl hounded by a demon. I'd almost fainted that first day from the lack of oxygen making it to my brain. I wasn't breathing. I didn't hear a word of Ms. Kinsley introducing herself or her patient explanation of what we could expect from this class over the semester.

But nothing happened. Ryan wasn't even cool with me; he acted the way I imagined he would with anybody else. And of course, that put my spine up. What was he planning? Now, on week two of classes I'd calmed down some – on the Ryan-front at least – though Red still detested me. And she made it known ever chance she had with glares so focused they could drill a hole through steel.

I was zoning again. Distracted. Stuck in my own thoughts. That couldn't be healthy, either . . .

I turned my attention back on Ms. Kinsley in time to hear, ". . . and in two weeks we'll have the presentations."

Uh, hold on. What?

"So, why don't you all go ahead and partner up, and you can start deciding who you want to pick as your subject."

Partners. Partners?

Everyone in the room started shuffling around, the noise-level swelling as they made the migration to other workstations. Meeting up with partners they arranged via silent hand signals and elbow nudging during Ms. Kinsley's explanation of the assignment. An explanation I hadn't been listening to.

Ryan leaned one arm over the back of his chair and glanced at me, "Wanna team?"

"Are you serious?" I demanded.

He shrugged. "Who else is there?"

No kidding. He and I were the only ones in this class who matched – the others were all the artsy type, like Ms. Kinsley clones. Not to mention, everyone else already seemed to have already paired up.

"What are you even doing in this class?" I asked him, turning my chair around with a loud scrape so that we were facing each other. Mr. Hot-Genius-Jock didn't belong in General Art Studies any more than I did.

Ryan smirked. "That's rich, coming from you."

Point. "Dude, I ended up in this class. You _**picked**_ it."

"I needed an elective I could ace," he said, simply. "Music's out. Can't fake knowing how to play an instrument. Writing was full. Amazing how many people think that one's a bird-course."

"So you just ended up in this class too, then?" I challenged. "Because there was nothing else and you wanted an easy A?"

Now Ryan looked ticked. "You should _**see**_ some of the classes on my timetable, kitten. I'm not lazy."

I lowered my eyes, momentarily ashamed that I implied he was. That wasn't fair, and it was sloppy on my end. Verbal sparring was fine but it lost all value when you start making stuff up. Yeah, that was beneath me.

"I know," I said. "Sorry."

Ryan was quiet for a second, but then said, "We're supposed to pick some famous artist and replicate his work. Project is due in two weeks, where we present it to the class."

I glanced up, startled. Ryan smirked, his hazel-green eyes lightening in amusement. "You were daydreaming. Doing a terrible job of hiding it, too."

I had zero response to this, so I just slipped a pen from my bag and dragged the sheet of paper closer to myself. "Famous artists. Ideas?"

"How about something more modern," he said, this huge grin still plastered on his face. Thoroughly entertained by lack of a comeback. "Salvador Dali?"

"If you're trying to throw me, it's not going to work," I told him, and then proceeded to _wow_ him by showing that I knew who that was with no need at all to check. "And you're looking for an passing grade but you want to spend the next two weeks recreating dreamscapes with melting clock-faces? Not as easy as it sounds. Really, unless you have one hell of a steady hand with a paintbrush it's only going to look like a mess."

"Then let's make a mess," Ryan counters. "Modern. Jackson Pollack?"

Indiscriminately splashing paint over a canvas sounded simple, and fun, but . . . I did have my pride to think of. Way too easy a grade on this one.

I shook my head. "Now, that's just sloppy."

"Fine," Ryan huffed. "You're turn. Ideas?"

I thought. Okay, I knew who these people were when Ryan was saying their names out loud but I drew a blank while fishing for names myself. I had nothing. But I wasn't going to tell _**him**_ that.

"Rachel?"

Speaking of names . . . both Ryan and I glance over. Ms. Kinsley was standing by the classroom door, holding the receiver of the class phone in her hand. A direct line to the front office and she was looking right at me.

"You're needed at the office," she says.

The class released a chorus of _'ooohhhhh'_ and a few giggles – real mature – and I grab my backpack. Ryan and I glanced at each other as I was standing up.

"I'll . . . jot down a few more ideas," he said. "Show you later. We can pick one then."

"Thanks," I say, feeling a small burst of gratitude.

I leave the class and even though I was on the first floor and the office was on the first floor it was still one very long, nerve-wracking walk. There was no reason for me to be called out of class and I really couldn't think of why my dad would be here looking for me – a parent being the only person allowed to see a student during school hours. I was confused. Not a feeling I particularly enjoyed.

I got to the front office and passed through the glass doors separating it from the corridor of lockers on the outside. The room smelled like paper and printer ink and industrial carpeting. The secretary looked up with a distracted smile when I entered.

"I'm Rachel," I said by way of explanation for my presence there. "I was called down, I think."

"Oh, yes," the secretary nodded and pointed at a spot by the line of chairs behind me with the end of her pen.

I turned around. Saw the man standing there and choked on my own spit. Literally.

I coughed, hacking as moisture went down the wrong pipe. Noticed the secretary's alarmed glance, the tall man with smoky blue eyes waiting for me, and again, the secretary's lack of any real response beyond handing me a tissue. Like a tissue mattered, I was choking not sneezing.

I recognized the man alright. I'd stared straight into that face; deliberately memorizing it on the off-chance I survived my strangulation. We'd met with his hand around my throat, fingers like granite crushing my windpipe.

Klaus.

Elijah's brother. And my . . . my what? I didn't really know what to make of him, or his presence here at my school. Clearly here for me. He compelled the secretary to have me called out of class. I looked at the woman, very suddenly realized that even if she hadn't been compelled she could not have helped me anyway, and then looked back at Klaus.

He was dressed casually, with none of Elijah's sophistication in black jeans, boots and a loose shirt under a heavy leather jacket. Eyes as blue as smoke looked me up and down, pretty much with the same level of interest as I'd just given him. A split-second and I felt like I'd been weighed and measured and found . . . satisfactory. Not good or bad, but like he was thinking _'good enough'_.

I found my voice, "W-what are you doing here?"

"You're needed," Klaus said, surprising me in that he wasn't fooling around. He struck me as someone who very much enjoyed playing games – his own, anyway – and the fact that he even answered my question told me that this little visit mattered.

I felt my pulse slowly, ever so slowly ease down. The immediate threat I assumed I was facing not as striking as I first thought. Klaus was dangerous, but not right now. Knowing that helped to steady me and I felt my mind settle.

"Needed for what?" I asked the obvious question.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the secretary calmly going about her work. Fingers tapping a keyboard as she typed up some document. Like the crackling tension between a student and a visitor who radiated menace like a vapor was such a common occurrence in this office it didn't require any more than mild interest.

"You need to come with me," Klaus said, an edge to his voice. Elijah's brother didn't like being questioned. Interesting.

I held my ground, unable to help glancing over at the secretary _**again**_ but the bulk of my attention was on the guy edging closer. Like he thought if I argued any more he could just snatch me up and throw me over his shoulder. _He probably would,_ I thought with a sigh.

"Is it Elijah?" I asked. I was stubborn but not stupid. I got the distinct impression I was wrong and that Klaus wasn't actually here for me. He'd come on behalf of his brother. I _**knew**_ something was going on with him. Which begged the question, why was I talking to Klaus? Why wasn't it Elijah standing in front of me, now?

Klaus didn't respond right away and I could feel the weight of his smoky blue eyes boring into mine. Feel the same quick, sharp intelligence in this man – so very different from his brother – as Elijah himself possessed. Maybe they weren't so different at all . . . and it caused a strange sort of empathy in me. The brothers. I narrowed my eyes and a flicker of amusement passed in and out of Klaus' expression.

"You would think," he said slowly "that you would be more interested in coming to your mate's rescue. Yes, the trouble is with Elijah. Yes, he needs you."

I flushed at the word _'mate'_ but made no comment. Why did it seem like everyone just assumed we'd slept together? Sean was just as bad and he already _**knew**_ we hadn't. I wondered if Elijah was getting it from his end, too.

Elijah . . .

I could have stubbornly dug in and shot off more questions. What was wrong with him? Did something happen? How could I help? But I didn't do that.

"Alright," I said, aware I was taking a monumental risk by choosing to trust Klaus. And by agreeing to leave with him. "Okay. Lead the way."

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah cleaned himself up after his violent bout of sickness. Hunger was burning a hole in his gut. The feverish heat sweeping through him was part hunger-induced nausea but also a driving frustration. If he could not keep himself fed, he would starve and an Original in a blood-craze was the thing of nightmares.

He wasn't quite there, yet.

He came out of his room properly dressed and clean; looking very much as he always did in a fitted black suit and tie. A crisp white shirt beneath. He would have preferred to dress down today, but it was essential that he look the part. He needed to be careful to wear the mask of normalcy for as long as he could so as not to worry or enrage his family. But also to keep anything of what he was feeling from escaping the firm walls he'd erected in his mind to make sure Rachel sensed none of it. He needed to be himself inside and out.

To his surprise, however, the compound was empty. There was no one to pretend in front of . . . _**nearly**_ empty. He could hear the rustle of motion in the courtyard and come down the stairs to find his sister seated at a small round table in the sunshine, her blonde hair glistening in the light. A yellow manila envelope, sides distended from the sheer number of papers inside, was on the table in front of her.

She appeared to have been waiting for him.

"Elijah," Rebekah called cheerfully.

"Rebekah," he responded, moving closer to see what it was she wanted.

His sister tilted her head a little, indicating the envelope with a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nik wanted to make sure you got this."

Did he now . . .

"What is it?" Elijah asked.

"The information you wanted," Rebekah said, pulling the envelope closer with her fingers and lifting the flap. "I don't know who this girl is, but I really can't remember the last time Klaus was quite this thorough on behalf of someone else. He's not after her too, is he? Poor girl."

Girl?

"Rachel?" Elijah demanded. He would not have put it past his siblings to have dug into his soul-mate's life but Rebekah was already shaking her head.

"No," she said. "The other one."

The other . . .?

Erin.

The mysterious cousin. Elijah had not entirely forgotten the girl, but with the very serious and persistent presence of the demon in the city he'd abandoned his pursuit of her in favor of protecting his soul-mate. Apparently, Klaus had not. What exactly had his brother been up to? It was no wonder they hadn't seen very much of each other these past weeks. All of them, it seemed, were busy.

But Elijah was interested and sat down across from his sister, holding out his hand for the envelope. Rebekah handed it over wordlessly and sat back, crossing her legs to watch as Elijah eagerly dug out the stack of sheets.

Printed documents, though a few were typed reports. Observations on a girl who seemed to be nothing more than what she appeared. And as Elijah read, really only just skimming the pages he was struck by the sheer number of similarities between Rachel and her cousin. Nothing was ever exactly the same; however their lives seemed to parallel. Erin was an only child, born in Seattle but moved to New Orleans at the age of four with her mother after the unfortunate – but natural – death of her father. She was only thirteen months older than Rachel, so they were essentially the same age. One year and one month apart. According to the copies of her school transcripts, Erin did well academically. She made a small name for herself in sports, and other than a mark for some slight mischief in her freshman year Erin seemed to have led a particularly average, uninteresting life.

Right up until the moment she disappeared.

She'd been chosen. None of the Missing had been random, though there was still no real clue as to what had drawn their abductors to them. And just like the others, there was no clear picture of what could possibly have been so special about this one girl that she should be taken. Perhaps _**that**_ was the commonality. The normalcy of these people.

"Have you seen the photograph?" Rebekah asked, startling Elijah from his musings.

Photograph. He pulled his hand out from the bottom of the pile of papers, his fingers hooking the smooth backing of picture-paper. He drew the sheet out and looked at the full-color printout of a photograph.

Elijah looked at it for a moment, and then realized with a start that this was the first time he had ever seen Erin's face. Until this moment, he hadn't had any idea what the girl looked like. But he recognized her on sight and it wasn't from his own memories. He recognized her simply because Rachel knew her so well. Elijah really had no idea when this particular image was shared from her to him, but he must have received it during one of their frequent merges and never realized . . . it made him wonder what parts of himself Rachel now carried, buried in her subconscious.

Erin was lovely, though sweaty at the moment the photograph was taken. Her straight silver-blonde hair tied back in a tight tail, though a few strands had come loose to float around her head. Eyes a striking blue-green. In the photo, she was sitting in the grass wearing cleat-sneakers and knee-high socks. Shorts and a short-sleeved shirt in her school's red and white colors. She was on the school's junior girls' soccer team, and it appeared as if this was a brief intermission during a practice. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion. A brightly colored bottle of water was in one hand and she seemed to have just taken a drink from it, though her attention was on the boy sitting beside her.

He was also on the grass, although he wore denim and a cotton sweater instead of a uniform. He had a mop of stylishly messed dark brown hair and laughing gray eyes.

The two of them looked for all the world like friends just spending time during a break. But to Elijah's sharp eyes, something else was happening there. He let his gaze pass over the photograph again and realized that though Erin's attention appeared to be on the boy beside her, it wasn't really. His eyes narrowed as he saw that the both of them – Erin and the boy – were listening to something else.

At first Elijah thought someone might have been speaking off to the side, out of the frame of the picture but that wasn't right, either. Both of them were too contained, their attention held very close to themselves.

And then he saw it.

A slight, slight blemish on the photo. Elijah passed his thumb over the glossy picture already knowing that there was no speck of dust or smeared ink to have made that mark. It was faint, little more than a slight washed area of paler color as if it were a printer error.

"Is that . . ." he began, unable to really even formulate what he thought it was.

Rebekah smiled and leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. She said, "It's a ghost."

It was a face. He could see the profile of it, no clear details but there were the hollows for eyes, the nose and chin and even the slight ridge of a cheek. Erin and her friend were not only just in the company of a ghost. They were able to see it. They were speaking with it . . . or listening as _**it**_ spoke to _**them**_.

"This girl you're so interested in finding has secrets," Rebekah said, unnecessarily. "And she was close friends with her cousin, who, coincidentally, is now very close to _**you**_. Makes me wonder what Rachel knows."

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

I was either insane or desperately lovesick because it wasn't until I was actually away from school and twenty-minutes into our walk through the quarter that I even stopped to consider my own stupidity. No one knew where I was. My teachers all thought my dad had come to pick me up, thanks to Klaus' compulsion. But my dad thought I was still safely in class like I was supposed to be, and really, he had no reason to believe otherwise.

I'd placed myself in an incredibly dangerous situation.

Nobody knew where I was. No one was expecting me.

So no one would notice for quite a while if I went missing. The soonest anyone would expect to see me again was in another two hours when school let out and Elijah arrived to walk me home like he'd done every day for the past week. If Klaus was leading me away to kill me . . . wouldn't Elijah be surprised. I wondered briefly what it would feel like to him, should I just suddenly die. What would the soul-bond do? Would it just be cut off?

I shuddered, feeling my mind shy away from that line of thought. I didn't want to imagine.

Klaus and I walked side-by-side, weaving easily through the crowded streets. He didn't hurry, careful to match his pace to mine and we did seem to be heading towards the compound. I could feel myself coming nearer to Elijah. Our soul-bond unmistakable and very, very bright. I was heading right for him. So as far as I could tell, Klaus wasn't actually leading me anywhere but where he said we were going.

"Do you know why Elijah's been ignoring me?" I asked. A stupid question but I was testing the waters. Gauging Klaus' mood in how he chose to answer.

He surprised me again, "He's not ignoring you, love. He's protecting you."

"Protecting me from what?" I said.

"From himself," was Klaus' cryptic response. He tilted a small smile my way, and I couldn't help but notice how similar that smirk was to the pull at the corners of Elijah's mouth when he allowed a glimmer of humor to show. A tremor rolled through me and I crossed my arms over my stomach as we walked.

"Why would Elijah need to protect me from himself?" I asked softly.

Klaus had a long stride. But I was fast; I didn't really stroll. So we were pretty even and made good time getting to the compound. It took a while for him to answer me, and I really thought he didn't intend to when he said, "Elijah isn't quite himself, these days."

Well, that cleared everything right up.

I swallowed and nodded and kept following. Letting Klaus take me to the compound and to whatever was going to happen there. With my mind, I reached for Elijah. Felt the immediate rush of comfort and relief I always did at his quick response, even through those stupid walls dividing us. Those walls seemed as tall and wide as ever, and every brick was firmly in place. But he was there, right on the other side.

I was trying to find the right analogy to explain exactly what it felt like to connect with him in this way. No words or emotion, even. Just that brief contact to assure each other we were there. And the closest thing I could think of was that it was like plucking a guitar string. I plucked that tight wire and it reverberated along the length, humming a single deep note. A moment later, I felt that same taught wire vibrate back to me. Elijah's response. Consciously sent or not, he was on the other end and I got a reply every time.

Klaus and I arrived at the compound. I stopped to look up at the three-story face of the building, at the dark iron balcony railing and the smattering of green. Sunlight shone of window glass, hot light on a cool afternoon. Elijah was right inside but when I called to him, he had not responded on purpose. Klaus held the front door for me, waiting for me to enter . . . and the only reason I stepped through that door is that I could clearly feel Elijah right on the other side of it. I wasn't alone in this. Whatever was going on with Elijah, he was there.

Actually, he was _**right there**_.

Sitting at a small table that would not have looked out of place at a French bistro, head tilted as he flipped through sheets of papers. A blonde girl – his sister – was in the chair across from him, one leg folded over the other as she sat quietly watching him. But her attention swung around when I entered, Klaus hovering right behind me. Barring the exit.

Nerves raced over my skin, raising the little hairs on my arms and prickling my scalp with sudden unease. My voice wavered, and I didn't intend the slight note of panic when I called out, "Elijah?"

His head came up, dark eyes widening in surprise but only just. So distracted by the papers that he really hadn't noticed my approach. He stood up quickly, seeming at a loss to explain my presence there. His gaze moved from me to his brother and then narrowed dangerously.

"You're many things, brother, but you have never been a fool," Klaus remarked with a sardonic edge to his voice. "You know exactly what you need."

Silence.

Tension crackled in my mind, as chips started appearing in those walls of his. The first bolt of real emotion I'd gotten from him in days, and it was the slow burn of anger. And something else. I frowned, trying to focus on that other feeling. I heard Elijah saying something, but missed the actual words only catching Rebekah's annoyed, "You could always just ask, Elijah."

I blinked and just that fast Elijah was out of his chair and right in front of me. Dark eyes smoldered as he stared down his brother though without much success. Klaus just stared back, unrepentant and I got the distinct impression he wasn't supposed to have gone to get me.

My heart gave a sharp thud but rather than back away from Elijah and the hot anger simmering over our bond, I moved nearer so that I now stood next to him. Elijah didn't look at me. He didn't have to. I could _**feel**_ his protection, his approval at my nearness and the softest flicker of sensation, like he'd brushed his fingers over my skin.

I didn't know what was going on, why Klaus had brought me here or even why Elijah seemed so pissed about it. But none of this was going to be explained with an audience, it seemed.

Elijah took me up to his room, away from where his brother and sister could see us.

"Is it just me, or do we seem to spend an awful lot of time here?" I asked, turning to Elijah with a small smirk of my own. "Every time I come over, we end up in your room."

I meant it only as a joke, but it did its job and it's a testament to Elijah's coolness that I hadn't even noticed how tense he was until he uncoiled. He came forward then, hard eyes softening by a degree and I got a real smile out of him. My heart lightened at the sight of it. For days, he'd been so cautious around me. So reserved.

"Elijah," I ventured.

"How," he began "did my brother convince you to leave with him?"

I flushed. Yeah. Telling Elijah that Klaus used my affection and concern to get me to do what he wanted was not going to go over well. We were _**so**_ not going there.

"Just say it," I prompted instead. "What do you need?

Elijah raised an eyebrow, amusement trickling out through the cracks in his walls. I savored that little bit of emotion bubbling between us. I'd missed it! Our psychic closeness and I hated that he'd shut himself off. But just as quickly it came, the emotion changed. Hardness. Anger. And something else I still couldn't place.

What was that?

"I need blood," he said, very simply.

Wow. That was succinct. No mincing words on this one.

"Uh," I hesitated. "_**My**_ blood?"

Well, duh. But I needed to be sure I'd heard that correctly.

"Yes," Elijah said, tension returning. And then he explained. He told me what he'd had to do, the price of having my glyphs neutralized. The Witch had wanted him to pay for her services with more than a liter of blood. Elijah was cursed. Unable to feed, he'd been suffering for days. Dancing the edge of starvation and control. But what fun was there in that?

Out of bitterness or jealously or just pure pettiness, she wouldn't let him starve completely. There was one source of blood his body would accept . . . and that's where her cruelty really showed. Elijah didn't want to hurt me – never wanted that – but mine was the blood that was left to him. Any other would make him violently ill . . . except for mine.

When he was finished explaining, he stood carefully back. Watching me with a fixed focus while waiting for my reaction to this news. For a moment, I was stunned. Absolutely blown away. But that was only just surprise from being told something so completely unexpected. In my mind, I could feel his stillness. His fury. And it finally made sense. That's what he'd been hiding for days.

"Okay," I said. I cleared my throat and held up my arm, letting the sleeve of my jacket slide back a little, exposing my wrist. A bolt of fear shot through me, piercing my heart as I saw veins swell around his eyes. Just for a second. I gathered all my courage into a tight little ball and came nearer to him.

"Its fine, Elijah. Just . . . try not to rip me a new one."

He wouldn't hurt me. He _**wouldn't**_. So I could do this. I was soul-mated to a vampire; what's a little blood?

Elijah offered a taught smile and took my hand, thumb brushing the soft skin of my wrist and the veins pulsing there.


	32. Chapter 31 - The Source

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **Hey all! :) I'm sure everyone is a little startled by the word-count for my chapter 31, but I feel as if this had to be a stand-alone chapter. If I lengthened it any more, it would have been just babble. Just sentences to fill a page. I tried to include this scene at the start of what's going to be my next chapter but it wasn't working. I truly feel as if this scene _**has**_ to be by itself.

Still, I think it turned out very well and I hope you all think so too! Let me know because this does feel like a huge moment for Rachel and Elijah. Things are changing . . .

All my best,

DayStorm

**Chapter 31**

**THE SOURCE**

* * *

"He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. I wanted to cling to his shirt,

bury my face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go."

– **Crescendo**

_Becca Fitzpatrick_, author

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Elijah slid his thumb over the inside of my wrist, his touch feather-light and intimate.

Such a little thing, to touch me there but his caress was so tender. There was more heat in that touch than if he leaned in and kissed me. And while my heart thudded, picking up its tempo at the feel of his cool warmth on the sensitive skin of my wrist, I wondered what it would be like if he did kiss me.

Now was not the right time to be having those sorts of thoughts. Definitely not.

The veins around Elijah's eyes swelled again, rippling in and out of sight. It occurred to me that he might have been forcing it down, fighting his own desire to just drink already before I changed my mind. But the tentativeness I could feel in his mind, and the gentleness of his touch showed that he wanted to make sure I was really okay with this. That _**we**_ would be okay, afterwards.

Truthfully, I was scared.

Really, really scared. But that was okay, because I _**was**_ fine with this. And not just because of some overblown sense of duty – that I owed him – or because I couldn't deny him my blood when he clearly needed it so badly. No. I was fine with this because . . . because . . . well . . . good question. I wished I could sit down and calmly explain my reasoning but there was none. Some things really were _'just because'_. He needed me. I was fine with it.

I was still afraid.

It's nice to fantasize about vampires, but it was very different when you're about to get bitten for real. When the vampire in question is standing right in front of you; solid and dark and immensely powerful holding you so carefully. I remembered how sharp his teeth looked. I could just imagine how sharp they were. And I was going to have to bleed for this. Duh.

So yeah, my stomach tightened with nerves as I fought not to pull my arm away. Cool air touched the sin of my inner wrist, sensitizing the area in anticipation of the hard bite. I curled my fingers a little and met Elijah's gaze, startled by the red sheen bleeding into them though I shouldn't have been.

"It's fine," I told him. Lifted my other hand to gently cup his face. His stubble was rough on my palm, but not unpleasant and I did enjoy the lukewarm temperature of his skin. Touching him steadied me, and I managed my next words with more certainty, "Really. It's okay, Elijah."

I was brave, but not fearless and I was going to lose my nerve if he hesitated any longer.

Distracted by that thought, I forgot to brace myself when Elijah very suddenly bit down. Fangs cut easily through the soft skin of my wrist. I might have gasped, but the sharp shock of the moment froze me. Panic swelled at the immediate rush of hot blood. The pain was startling but nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

Elijah's hands tightened, holding me firmly. Locking me to him. I couldn't break from his hold.

He was keeping me still I realized and very deliberately didn't jerk away. He held my arm motionless so that I didn't struggle and tear the wound, hurting myself on his teeth. If it wasn't for our bond, I might not have known that's what he was doing. I was suddenly grateful for our closeness. It lessened the terribleness of the moment.

I calmed down and held myself still, becoming aware that I could feel Elijah drink. Long, slow pulls that didn't draw on my heart. He would drink the blood filling his mouth, letting my circulation do the work instead of sucking which would have place and incredible strain on my heart.

It didn't take very long until my head started to spin, the whole room seeming to tilt slightly. Sounds rushed in my head. Like the thunderous rustling of leaves in the wind. Pressure built in my sinuses. Behind my eyes and up to my forehead. I moved forward, carefully positioning myself so that I could lean my body into his. I rested my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes.

His suit jacket was soft and cool against my cheek. And his scent, of the forest after the rain, and pine resin and, faintly, juniper. A rich, dark smell that I associated with him. It comforted me. Soothed me because I knew that I was safe. He was my soul-mate. Even Elijah didn't know how soul-mates were chosen or paired. But it was rare, and it was precious. He was my . . . _**mine**_.

I was losing too much blood. I knew it on some level but as the pressure continued to build in my head and my stomach churned with a quick nausea, my mind wandered. There was another feeling blossoming and that one was more interesting. Something deep, an emotion I'd been aware of but only just noticed fluttered like the delicate beat of butterfly wings in my chest.

Elijah released me, carefully withdrawing his fangs and then passing his tongue over the wounds they left. The feel of his tongue, warm in what must have been his way of sealing the holes left by his teeth fired nerves all through my body. My heart tripped on itself and I swallowed hard, only just managing to keep from squeaking in surprise.

My head felt heavy on my shoulders, and a smooth whirl of dizziness did nothing to help my balance. I lifted my head from Elijah's shoulder, fighting the need to fall down. I was okay. My thoughts were clear, even if I felt a little sick. I was weak but alright.

That's when I noticed that Elijah's other arm, the one that hadn't been holding my hand while he fed, had snaked around my waist. He had been holding me this entire time. He refused to let me go, now that it was over. I didn't have the strength, or the desire, to resist so I just let myself take what he offered and stayed.

"Elijah?" I ventured.

A little smile flit over his expression and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine. His gorgeous onyx-brown eyes soft and dark and depthless, so close. I could fall forward and be lost in them forever. Warmth and gratitude and peace slipped over our bond, and I knew that Elijah's assumption was correct. Whatever curse the Bone Witch placed on him, preventing his ability to feed properly . . . I was the exception. My blood was the one his body would accept.

Already, I could feel his power swell. Power and confidence and that smooth cunning as strength returned to him. I could have wept for him, sharing in his delight and relief that finally, finally his terrible hunger was assuaged.

But I was no idiot. Elijah and I realized the significance of this at the exact same moment, so quickly and our bond so open that I could not have even guessed who's thought it was. Did it matter? We both knew it.

Currently, and we couldn't tell for how long this would last, I was Elijah's only source of food.


	33. Chapter 32 - Cafe du Monde

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hey, everyone. :) For those who might not know, a "heifer" is another word for a cow. (It'll be in this chapter) Ummm . . . . yeah. Three guesses what Rachel thinks of the Bone Witch. haha She's sooooo not impressed with the Witch's hex on Elijah._

_Also, at the end of this chapter I've placed the coded message Erin mailed to Rachel mentioned at the start of this fic. The mysterious message written on a sheet of yellow pad-paper. :D I'll also include instructions on how to decode the message in case anyone wants to give it a shot. But don't worry if you don't want to, or if you can't figure it out. Rachel will crack the message in a few more chapters and when she does, everyone will get to see what it says._

_But for anyone who enjoys puzzles and wants to give it a try, good luck!_

_All my best,_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 32**

**CAFÉ DU MONDE**

* * *

"Well, one thing I can tell you . . . if it isn't complicated, he probably isn't a soul-mate."

– **Grandma Claudia**

_Roswell, _S01E04

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

"Wear the white one," Sean said.

He was back. Had been back for about fifteen minutes and he was already making a nuisance of himself.

I honestly did not know where he went whenever he vanished on me, but Sean always seemed to turn up at the weirdest possible moment. And for whatever reason, he was always right next to me when that happened. He really did seem to just materialize out of the air.

I would have been so pissed if he'd materialized right beside me while I was still in the shower but he hadn't, thankfully catching me within seconds of pulling on a bathrobe instead. That was fifteen minutes ago. I was still wearing the bathrobe with nothing underneath, standing barefoot in front of my closet.

The greater majority of my wardrobe was still in Seattle, being boxed up by my mother in preparation of being shipped to New Orleans. That limited my selection of things I had to wear to only a few outfits. My fashion sense leaned more towards comfort rather than style. I did have nice things and could look really good when I felt like it but, well, my best stuff was three thousand miles north. And tonight was one of those times where I _**wanted**_ to look really good.

So I was digging through my closet, searching for something nice while Sean flitted around, offering very helpful suggestions . . .

"Rachel," he prodded, as if I hadn't heard him. "Wear the white one!"

_Cute, Sean,_ I thought. The "white one" was a sheer silk camisole. It was pretty, but it's what I put on _**under**_ something else so that my bra wouldn't show through the shirt. The camisole was something I would not have felt comfortable parading around in even if I was alone in the apartment. And he wanted me to go outside in it?

"I'm not going to dinner in my underwear," I said.

"We're in New Orleans, sweetie," Sean said, sounding amused. "No one will notice."

_Elijah would,_ I thought. He'd notice alright and the mere idea of him seeing so much bare skin, the important parts hidden only by a thin slip of white silk made my cheeks flame. Hell, I wasn't sure I would have wanted him to see me in a tank top. Almost from the moment we'd met, I'd been careful to wear long-sleeved shirts to hide the demonic glyphs cut into my arms.

The glyphs were invisible now, thanks to the Bone Witch's spell – double-crossing heifer – and it was safe to show my arms again. But it felt weird! Only a few weeks and already the feel of air or sunshine against my skin made me want to pull down my sleeves. I sighed. Long-sleeved shirts it is, then. I could go short, but this was going to be my first real date with Elijah and I didn't want to be distracted by every breeze or stray gust of wind.

I frowned.

Sean was being very, very quiet.

I shot him a look from over my shoulder, paused and blinked, and then turned around completely to look at him. "What . . . are you doing?"

Sean was standing on my bed. Actually _**on**_ my bed, with his arms raised over his head. Hands splayed flat against the ceiling. Head tilted back and a slight smile on his face. At the sound of my voice, he tilted his head forward to look at me. Blue eyes dancing with laughter.

"It's not like I'm messing up your sheets," he said, completely misunderstanding what I meant. True. His ghost-feet didn't even leave indents to show where he was standing. He was made of air, for all the weight he was placing on my mattress and the comforter. Still . . .

"You look like you're trying to hold up the ceiling," I muttered.

He snorted.

I wondered if weird behavior was just a by-product of becoming a ghost – what does it matter what you do, if no one can see you? – or if Sean was like this naturally. A bit of a strange guy when he was alive? Seriously, though. What was up with that? He didn't move, just stayed there with his hands flat against my ceiling.

Whatever. I went back to my closet. Closed my eyes and reached inside to pull out the first piece of cloth that felt nice against my fingers. I would match everything else to that random piece because I really did not have much of a selection.

"Sean?" I said.

"Hmmm?"

"You're not coming with me when I go out, right?"

This time, he actually laughed. A real, out loud chuckle.

"No," he assured me. "You and your mate go . . . enjoy your evening. I'll stay here and haunt."

Haunt. Of course. Guess that meant Sean had finally decided to just move in. About time, too. Here's to hoping my dad never found out we had our very own ghost.

"Elijah and I are _**not**_ mates," I said, more sharply than I'd intended but with far less conviction than I would have liked. I hadn't sounded sure at all!

I winced at Sean's knowing snicker. "Well, not yet."

"Not ever," I shot back.

"We'll see."

"Shut up."

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah hadn't given Rachel much warning that he wanted to take her out tonight but it had felt very important to him that they do this. They were in a relationship. There was really no other way to explain it. He and Rachel were together. And after he fed from her today, tasting her fear in her blood but the way she turned her trusting gaze up at him afterwards he realized that he had never bothered to court her. What a shameful thing, he thought.

He loved her and he never once took her out, or made any effort to court her, instead seemingly taking for granted that she stayed with him.

He hadn't been very eloquent in his invitation, though. Holding her in the seconds it took her to regain her equilibrium after his bite. He'd said, very simply, "Come out with me."

Rachel's response had been to frown uncertainly, though a small smile played over her expression. Considering what he was asking her, not sure she understood his meaning.

"Go where?" she asked him.

"Out," Elijah repeated. "Wherever you like."

Her smile widened, then. Hazel-brown eyes sparkling. He lay his forehead against hers, breathing in her delicious scent. The rich taste of her blood still in his mouth. Lowering her lashes, Rachel had leaned forward and rested her face against his chest. Allowing Elijah to take her into his arms and hold her close. She swayed a little, weakened from the blood she'd given.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Elijah?" she'd muttered, happiness sparkling over their bond.

He had combed his fingers through her hair, then, letting the smooth strands slide over his knuckles. Rachel sighed, her hands pressed between them, folded against his chest. She was warm through the layers of his clothing. His jacket. The shirt beneath.

"Yes," he said, after a moment. "I am asking you out."

"On a date," she insisted.

Elijah smiled.

"A date," he agreed. "That's it exactly."

* * *

Café du Monde.

Five hours later, that's where they were. Rachel had chosen the location and Elijah had to appreciate her sensitivity. They had met and were bound in a back alley, behind a small inn. But the café was _**their**_ place. Where they sat down together for the first time. Where they'd spoken, testing each other. They'd sparred that day, he remembered. Rachel confused and frightened, but needing him in that she understood he knew what was happening. She'd wanted answers. There was a connection between them that hadn't been there before – or so it seemed, though of course it was there from the moment she'd been born. That day, sitting in the bright white sunshine in the sweltering heat Elijah had not known what to expect from this slip of a girl he was now tied to.

Irrevocably bound. There was no escaping it.

Even he had been nervous. He'd needed to know her, to get a feel for who she was beneath the hesitancy and the casual, modern clothes that marked her as average and wholly part of this era.

And then she spoke. He looked into her clear, hazel-brown eyes and listened to her speak. He'd seen the way her gaze wandered, scanning the street and the faces of people as they passed. Not out of distraction but with a sharp intelligence that had intrigued him. He'd tested her, using words to direct her attention even while explaining their situation as honestly as he could and she had responded with a natural brilliance. Not once had she allowed herself to be played, to be led.

It was then that he knew there was no mistake.

The universe had not been wrong in pairing them. He was superior, but, as he'd already decided, that did not make her inferior. She was one who would stand with him. Equal to him. Give her the same thousand years of life as he'd been granted and she may very well surpass him, even.

Elijah smiled, tapping a finger on the glass surface of their table. He wholly approved of Rachel's choice for their first official date.

Café du Monde. Where it all began . . .

The evening was cool. The sky deepened to a rich, deep indigo as night descended sweeping away the last of the bright daytime shine. The city was lit, sparkling like a jewel in the darkness but Elijah's attention was where he wanted it. On the girl seated across from him, fingers deftly picking apart a beignet. A soft yellow glow spilled from the restaurant, catching in Rachel's hair to ignite the color. She was very clearly a brunette but there was gold, there, too. A little red. Wheat. Bronze. All together it made for a layered effect that was both lovely and intriguing.

Elijah was starting to think Rachel did nothing by mistake, and it amused him that she had chosen to wear her hair up, tonight, pinned in place with dozens of discrete clips.

One of the things he loved most about her was Rachel's casual practicality.

He'd seen her tie her hair before, but never out of any sense of appeal. She would most often tie it in a messy tail meant to keep the long, heavy fall of hair out of her face. To keep it out of the way. So having styled it so deliberately was significant and she wasn't being subtle about her intention. Her hair was lifted up, taking it off her neck to expose the smooth column of her throat.

She was not taunting him. The humor dancing over their bond was too innocent.

No, not taunting. She was teasing. Poking at him to show she wasn't hiding herself. She was showing him that she was not troubled by having fed him her blood. She was not bothered by his bite. The relief Elijah felt by this was staggering. If the Bone Witch had meant to drive a wedge between them, by forcing Elijah to feed off Rachel . . . it hadn't worked.

And even though she hadn't had much time to prepare for their evening, Rachel had taken care with her appearance tonight beyond putting her hair up. Rachel was dressed in a fitted black and white stripped top, with sleeves that contoured her arms down to her wrists. A casual cut, very clean but with Rachel's own touch of renewed confidence in that it was an off-shoulder top, leaving a nice length of skin enticingly bare. Deep blue denim molded to her long legs, accentuating the firmness of them. She had a runner's body, he thought. She was fit. Strong. Chestnut colored flats on her feet.

Her only accessory was a slim silver chain around her neck, with a tiny pearl bead that rested lightly against her skin.

"What're you thinking about?" Rachel asked softly, the suddenness of her voice startling him.

Elijah leaned back in his seat, leaving one long arm resting on the table and offered a crooked smile. The wind gusted, raking cool fingers through his dark hair.

"You don't know?" he asked, wryly.

Rachel tore another small piece off her beignet and considered him a moment. Said, "Not really. Can _**you**_ read my mind?"

"No," Elijah assured her. "Did you think I could?"

"Sometimes seems like you can," she admitted, playfully narrowing her eyes at him. "You do pick up words, though. When I'm thinking things, you'll sometimes repeat back to me exactly what I was thinking."

"Words. The occasional sentence," Elijah said. "Never have I been able to outright read your thoughts."

"Oh." Rachel lowered her gaze, hands going still as the pastry finally crumbled. She stared at the mess on the little plate, and then smirked. "You're still better at this than I am. It's because I shut myself off, isn't it?"

Elijah hesitated, meeting Rachel's eyes from across the table. She smiled and nodded, knowing that was it exactly. And their minds picked that exact second to touch, briefly merging before drawing apart again and in that flicker they both understood. She'd denied their connection, essentially weakening the bond. _**Her**_ bond, but not _**his**_ because even in the week where they were parted – immediately after she learned he was a vampire – he hadn't shut himself off from her. He hadn't wanted to. And because of that, the strength of their connection had continued to grow in him even while hers was stunted.

"Wow," Rachel muttered. "This thing between us, the soul-bond is . . . complicated. It feels like the toughest, most unbreakable thing in the universe but at the exact same time, it's so fragile."

"It's also plural," Elijah added. He took a sip from his coffee, watching Rachel as he did and saw the uncertainty deepening the gray of her eyes. He explained, "If the bond were singular, one piece like a string or a rope passing between us, then it would have been impossible for me to have a greater mastery over our bond than you. I've strengthened it from my end, but yours still feels new."

"Not a rope, then," Rachel said. "How about an eight?"

Elijah raised a brow. "An eight?"

She nodded. "Yes. The sign for infinity . . . is a horizontal eight isn't it? So what if this thing between us isn't a straight line at all?"

"Infinity," Elijah echoed, considering.

Rachel said, teasing him, "You're immortal. How hard could it possibly be to accept the idea of infinity. Synonymous with forever, isn't it?"

"It is," Elijah agreed. He shook his head, amused and interested in the direction their conversation had taken. But theology was not what interested him. When he'd invited Rachel out with him, he had wanted to give them both time away from the turmoil of demons and glyphs, spells and a Witch with a bone to pick with him.

Elijah allowed a bit of mischievousness to slip over their bond, knowing that it would interest his mate. He was right. Rachel's eyes flitted to his, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she tilted her head in invitation. Elijah was quite aware that the easiest way to throw her was to ask something unexpected and innocuous. Something she likely would not have seen coming . . .

"Tell me about yourself," he said, very simply. Laying it out there.

Rachel blinked, taken aback. Uncertain for a second, and then flushing in slight embarrassment as her mind registered the question as genuine.

"Um," she hesitated. "What . . . do you want to know?"

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Elijah's slow, daring smile worried me. Just a bit.

My mouth went dry. He wanted to know something about me, but what was there to say? My life, right up until I met him, had been average. From there things got interesting but he already knew all of that other stuff. I stared at him, meeting his gaze squarely and feeling like I was the most boring person in the world.

"We've spent the greater majority of our time, where we should have been getting to know each other locked in some struggle or another," Elijah said, and I think he may have actually been explaining the purpose of tonight. I wanted to go out with him, certainly, but it had seemed like an odd thing to do with everything else that might have been going on behind the scenes. Things that we didn't know about but very desperately needed to. And he was taking me out for coffee.

Elijah must have picked up on my incredulity because he smirked and added, "Do you remember the moment we were bound? The very second our eyes met, and it was like the world shifted and for one glorious second time ceased and we –"

"-aligned," I finished. "Of course I remember. How does anyone forget something like that?"

Aligned. The perfect word for something so mind-blowing. I'd thought about it in the weeks since then, recalling the event but unable to properly remember the exact sensation. It was too big. Too much for me to pull up the feeling the way it was. My memories were pale, washed out images of the actual thing.

I blinked. "The images . . . a download of information."

"The soul-bond's way of very quickly introducing us to each other," Elijah said with a quirk at the corner of his mouth. A small smile tugging but not quite there. "Essentially, we were showing ourselves to each other."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Yeah, I remembered those images, too.

"Blood," I said, pitching my voice low so that Elijah could hear me but we wouldn't be overhead by the people at other tables. "There was . . . a lot of it. It scared the hell out of me. Like, I could taste it and feel it caked on my skin. I could smell it."

Taste it, feel it, smell it. Blood in his mind and I agreed to meet with him the next day . . . clearly, I hadn't been in my right mind.

Elijah was quiet. I peek at him and found his dark gaze locked on my face. Completely still.

I frowned. "Elijah?"

"You saw rivers of blood in my mind?" he asked. He sounded . . . just as quiet as he looked.

Oh.

"No," I hastened to assure him. "I saw all sorts of things. It's that, well, the bloody part startled me. Scared me, sure. But I didn't know then that you were a vamp – ummm, what you are. It scared me because I didn't know why those things would be there, in your head. But you're right, you know. We were being introduced to each other. You were telling me what you are. I just couldn't believe it."

Elijah breathed deeply, seeming to relax but there was still that flicker of unease in his mind. The hardness in his gaze when he smiled at me and I had to ask.

"You're not just a vampire, though, are you?"

That did it. His gaze sharpened.

"It wasn't the blood that scared me most," I admitted. "It was the weight. I sensed years inside you, Elijah. So many years and it was like this awesome weight pressing down on me. I remember thinking that it felt like . . . like I was sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Sitting there with the full weight of the sea pressing in from every direction. Years and more. Every day since that first meeting, since our soul-bond was forged I've felt power. It's immense. Who are you?"

And I swear, if he confessed to being Dracula in the flesh I was going to believe him.

Elijah didn't respond right away. He sat still in his chair, one hand resting on the glass surface of our table. The black iron of the patio railing behind him. A slow simmer roiled in my belly at the sight of him, backlit by the city lights and the mysterious indigo of the nighttime sky. He wore a fine black jacket, tonight, with a charcoal shirt beneath and no tie. The top button was left undone, making him look less controlled. More dangerous. With those dark, watchful eyes and the wind raking teasing fingers through his hair he reminded me of a panther. A predator at rest, but deadly and coiled.

Finally, he blinked breaking the spell and I breathed for the first time in what felt like minutes.

A slow, challenging smile slid across his expression.

"You have a mind that demands answers," he said, stating it as fact. I said nothing. "Alright. This is a conversation that is long overdue, I think."

He stood up, then. Tall and dark and held out one hand, inviting me to take it. I did, slipping my hand in his and letting him pull me to my feet.

"Walk with me," he said. "And I'll tell you about the Originals."

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

The Original family. Quite literally the original – the _**first**_.

Elijah was one of the first vampires in existence.

Mind. Blown.

And there I thought coming out as the real Dracula would have . . . Dracula has nothing on Elijah.

We were walking, strolling along the brick-paved path along the Mississippi which cut straight through New Orleans. Appropriately called the riverwalk, the path was well lit with electric streetlamps made to look like lanterns and there were other people around, even though it was growing late. I could hear music from the Quarter, muted with distance but still easy enough to make out. A background symphony to the ancient story Elijah relayed in careful detail – leaving out the darkest parts, I was sure, but telling me everything I needed.

More than enough to satisfy my curiosity.

It was a long walk.

By the end of it, he stopped speaking but we kept walking. Moving steadily along the inky black ribbon that smelled like stone and steel and water. The river. The wind sweeping over the water was chilly, prickling over my arms and raising little goose pimples. I crossed my arms over my belly and shivered a little.

"Nothing to say?" Elijah said, once the silence had stretched uncomfortably long.

I tried to smile up at him, but I was tired and still weak from his bite earlier that day. I might have looked scared of him all over again because I was sure my smile didn't come out right. So I hooked my arm through his, finally able to make sense of the immense swell of strength that washed over our bond. The iron beneath his skin, power just there. Right under the surface.

He was an Original vampire.

He was special.

And he could not be killed. That was the one that struck me hardest. Elijah and his siblings were indestructible. I never had to worry about him getting staked or beheaded or set on fire. We were okay. No. _**He**_ was okay. I was human . . . another little shiver worked its way up my spine.

"A thousand years," I said, simply.

A flicker in my mind was my only warning, and I registered it a beat _**after**_ Elijah moved. He spun, startlingly fast and caught my hand with his. A dangerous smirk hardening in his eyes.

"Millennia," he said. "You've found your soul-mate in an Original and your mind goes immediately silent. What are you thinking?"

I laughed. "That running away wouldn't work any better now than it had the last time?"

He was so, so close! Leaning right into me, my head filling with the scent of his skin. The cool-warmth of his body. How was it that he gave off no real heat but somehow managed to keep the worst of the nighttime chill off of me?

I moved daringly nearer, bringing us together so that there was only a breath of air separating us. I stared straight into his eyes, drawn into them and remembered sensation of sinking as my will was swept away under the power of his compulsion. Hours of excruciating pain just . . . gone. I felt none of it, and didn't remember a second of the Bone Witch rebranding my arms. All that power and Elijah had never done anything but protect me.

What was there to be afraid of?

"I'm not scared of you, Elijah," I whispered. "I just found out you're an Original, and all I can think is that . . . I'm here. With you."

A snap of energy crackled over our bond. Feirce, red light.

My heartbeat picked up as the meaning of my words registered. I hadn't meant to say that. Not out loud. That was something I'd only touched on, in my own mind. But I recognized that by saying them, I'd also sent the emotion of them to Elijah through the bond and _**that**_ scared me.

It scared me almost as much as the challenge in Elijah's expression. I swallowed hard, seeing it and for the first time that night felt that I might have gotten myself into quite a bit of trouble.

He must have sensed my sudden panic, because he laughed and brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. Heat seared me at his touch but rather than blush and pull away, ending this electric moment between us I took a deep breath and decided to be brave, instead. I caught his hand in mine; lacing our fingers together like we'd done a hundred times before . . . hand-holding being such an innocent sign of affection but it was so significant to us. A physical representation of our soul-bond. I could feel myself straining closer, reaching for him when we did this and it was the most wonderful sensation.

Elijah locked our hands together. His ring felt hard and cool against my skin. Cutting sharply but not actually hurting. His gorgeous, onyx-brown eyes smoldered and my heart thumped. A hard pressure building in my chest. A sweep of cool chills raced down my arms. My back. Static following the length of my spine. Was I breathing?

"I'm in love with you," Elijah said.

My heart officially stopped beating.

He smiled softly, but the intensity in his gaze blazed hotter. "I think I knew it from the first. I think I've known it all through my thousand years, though I never knew you. A blessing I could never appreciate. Centuries. They would have been intolerable, had I known how long I would have to wait for you."

I didn't know what to say. A wild panic had taken hold of me, cramping my stomach and shooting ice through my veins but this was very different than fear. I was terrified, but not afraid and the senselessness of that feeling left me reeling.

Elijah was waiting. He was not demanding an answer and some part of me recognized he was giving me a second to process things.

_Be brave,_ I reminded myself.

I might have been shaking. I needed to back up or . . . or I needed Elijah to move back a step and give me room to breathe. To think. Every breath smelled like him. He was so near, I could feel him against my skin. He wasn't touching me anymore, having released my hand but that didn't seem to matter. I could feel him on my skin. In my blood. In my bones. My soul or whatever that shining light was . . . it flared. Brilliantly, blindingly bright.

Oh. My. God.

_I love him,_ I thought, everything going very still and silent inside of me. Shock. _I'm in love with Elijah._

"Is that a confession?" Elijah whispered.

I started. "W-what?"

"Do I frighten you, Rachel?" he asked, a taunting edge to his tone. Mischievousness darting over our bond.

Did he? No.

"I'm not . . . no," I said, stumbling horribly and sounding completely unconvinced. But no, I wasn't scared of him. I was just blown away. By his confessing . . . and my own.

"That's good," he said, and the mischief I could sense so clearly heightened. The intensity in his dark eyes burned me, searing. "Because I would hate to frighten you, with what I plan to do to you."

I swallowed. "Do _**to**_ me, Elijah? Ominous."

"Don't be scared," he said. My heart stuttered as he slid closer. There was now no distance between us at all. Or . . . it seemed like it. I swallowed hard, but my throat had gone dry. "I'm giving you a chance. One chance, my sweet little mortal."

"One chance to do what?" I whispered. Trembling. I tried to read his thoughts, or to make sense of his emotion but there was very little there. Laughter. Amusement. That blasted flicker of mischief. The only reason I knew I wasn't in mortal danger right now is that there was no threat in his head. Because it definitely felt like he was moving in on me, preparing to pounce.

"One chance," he said "to tell me the truth. Out loud, my love. I want you to say it, out loud."

He'd heard my thoughts. He'd felt the truth the exact second I realized it myself. I loved him, too. And that feeling, those emotions were too powerful to hide.

"I want to hear it, just once," Elijah said, his breath warm on my throat. I trembled; little shivers of hot and cold prickling down the centre of my back. Little electrical currents that excited me. And scared me. It felt good. I let my hands rest on Elijah's hard chest, feeling another small thrill. A flutter in my chest. I couldn't seem to catch my breath.

Elijah slid his fingers over the smooth skin of my throat, brushing aside the trailing strands of hair there and a breathless gasp escaped at the feel of his lips trailing over my pulse. His mouth was warm. Firm and knowing. Lips hovered over the artery, lingering a moment before moving higher. Up to press the softest, most tender kiss on the smooth skin beneath my ear. My fingers tightened convulsively on the lapels of his jacket. Elijah's low, wicked chuckle trembled enticingly.

I couldn't breathe. I really couldn't. My whole body went liquid and I was completely at the mercy of what Elijah was doing to me. I liked it. I didn't want him to stop. But his mouth, his lips, his hands dancing lightly on my back. All of it felt so fleeting. Every touch only a whispered of sensation. The lightest brush of warmth. I wanted more. I wanted to feel him closer. Firmer. And I tried to draw him in but Elijah wouldn't allow it. He nuzzled against my throat, right beneath my ear and blew a silky breath over the sensitized skin.

My heart thudded, tripping over itself at the rush of pleasure that shot through me. A pleasure so acute it hurt. But it still wasn't enough! _He __**was**__ teasing_, I though numbly, feeling my brain dissolve at what his mouth was doing. All at once, it came to me. I knew what he wanted. What he was waiting for, and Elijah had all the patience he needed to wait for however long it took. He could easily wait me out, because I was already on fire! My blood boiling with desire.

"Yes," I gasped, panting. What did he want me to say? I couldn't quite remember.

"No," Elijah responded. Teeth grazed my skin. Sharp. Hard fangs. A tremor rolled through me, passing from the top of my head down to my toes. Zero fear that he would bite down. He was taunting me. Heightening the tension. Sensitizing me to where I felt I would burst.

I was . . . I was . . .

"Yes, yes," I tried again. "I'm attracted, alright? Elijah . . ."

He chuckled darkly. "Attracted?"

Hell, he was torturing a confession out of me. I let my hands slide up over his hard, firm chest and shivered at the feel of him. His body mine to explore through the smooth silk of his charcoal shirt. He wouldn't stop me and there was a thrill of dark pleasure at knowing that, too. That this powerful, immortal creature was mine just as much as I was his.

From his chest and the glorious feel of muscle coiling beneath my hands, I let my touch trail higher. Over his throat. The rough stubble prickling, shocking against my hypersensitive skin. I couldn't stand any more teasing. Any more of those fleeting touches and nips, giving just enough to drive me even higher. I raked my fingers through his short, dark hair. But with my other hand, I cupped his cheek and tried to bring his mouth to mine but Elijah resisted. He lingered on my throat, grazing his teeth over my pulse again, eliciting another bright bolt of furious heat and cold to shoot through my body.

"Not yet," he muttered, chuckling darkly at my frustrated moan.

I was in pain. Instead of his touch easing the hunger I felt for him, it only seemed to intensity it. He was everywhere. Every nerve in my body on fire, sparking little fitz of pleasure-pain but it wasn't enough. It was nowhere near enough and Elijah knew it.

_Tell me,_ he whispered. His dark, rich voice only in my mind.

"I love you," I managed, gasping. No strength in my voice at all. "Elijah. I love you. The whole time, I was in love with you."

I just couldn't admit it to myself. Too soon, too fast. The part of me that was modern, that was born and raised in this era firmly believed that love took years. There was no fairytale romance. No love at first sight . . . no soul-mates.

Only, there was.

He was here. Hot and cool, and dark and hard and more alive than any other man, anywhere. Vampire. Immortal. _**Mine**_.

I loved him. Forever.

"Forever," Elijah echoed my thoughts. His mouth trailing a hot path up the length of my throat. "Always."

"Always," I agreed. Trembling.

I felt his smile. Against my skin. In my mind. Dark satisfaction. A fierce possessiveness. And a tenderness. A softness. Love returned.

White light filled my mind as Elijah finally pressed his mouth to mine. A full-body shudder tore through me at the sensation. No more hesitation or games. He kissed me, engaging and I was helpless under the double assault of his body and his mind. Pleasure coursed like molten metal through my blood as his taste consumed my senses.

Elijah passed his tongue lightly over my lower lip. A startling sensation of liquid warmth. The heat, the sinful temptation to just give in to him was too much for me to stand.

I felt a bolt of fear, my inexperience rearing between us but I couldn't help myself. His tongue flicked out a second time, tracing my lower lip and I moaned in surrender. Pressing even closer against him, need roaring fire in my veins I let my mouth fall open and felt his tongue slip inside with a languid heat that swept every doubt from my mind. I melted into him, willing and eager for more. Always more.

* * *

**FINAL WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _WOW Okay, that was hot! Hope you all love Elijah and Rachel's first kiss. I definitely didn't skimp on the passion! haha_

_As promised here is the coded message Erin wrote to Rachel on the yellow-pad paper. :D_

_**Instructions:**__ It might look complex, but it's really not all that hard. Each number corresponds to a letter of the alphabet. For example:_

_**1 **__– A_

_**2**__ – B_

_**3**__ – C_

_You get the picture. What makes this a code, and not just 5-minutes of simple translation is that the "1" in this code DOES NOT equal "A". All you have to do is figure out which letter of the Alphabet is "1" and everything follows from there._

_**Clue:**__ "E" is the most common letter in the English language. Figure out which number stands for "E" and it should be fairly easy to go from there! haha GOOD LUCK!_

_**Now, here's the letter:**_

10/1/1/26/1/26_5/10_10/1/19_11/14/8/1/23/10/15. 15/1/25/14/1/16/15_23/10/26_8/5/1/15. 24/1_25/23/14/1/2/17/8.

2/5/14/1_9/5/14/14/11/14. 2/11/20_5/10_16/4/1_8/5/3/4/16. 19/11/8/2_7/1/21. 6/1/19/1/8_5/10_16/4/1_14/5/18/1/14.

15/23/18/1_9/1_14/23/25/4/1/8. 2/11/14/3/5/18/1_9/1.

1/14/5/10.


	34. Chapter 33 - Quiet Before the Storm

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _First off, congratulations to everyone who took the time to decode Erin's message! You __**all**__ got it right._ *DayStorm passes around congratulatory cupcakes to everyone*_ What surprises me the most is actually not that so many people cracked the code, but that so many of you took the time to try! I am so, so happy and a little honored. Is that weird?_

_It still blows my mind how involved people are with this story, and how much people seem to really care about Rachel and Elijah. Their relationship, sure, but also their story. And yeah, I know . . . WTH is going on with Erin? What did she do? A character that nobody has seen, but she's a major player in the story. haha Great fun!_

_All my best,_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 33**

**QUIET BEFORE THE STORM**

* * *

"When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life.

When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down _'happy'_.

They told me I didn't understand the assignment. I told them they didn't understand life."

– **John Lennon**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Rachel snuggled into Elijah's chest, one hand resting lightly over his heart. She was only lightly asleep, but he could sense that she had begun to dream. It interested Elijah to discover if he could sink deeply enough into her mind to watch her dreams but he discarded the idea in favor of simply enjoying the little bit of time he had to be with her. The sun had risen fully over the city, spilling golden rays in through his windows and a bright bar of light was crawling up the length of their bodies.

A little more than a week had passed since they'd learned of the Bone Witch's curse, prohibiting Elijah from ingesting any blood but the one belonging to his mortal soul-mate. During that time, he'd fed from her twice. The first time, he was already starving and so had taken far more blood than he felt comfortable risking. Rachel hadn't shown any sign of having been harmed, but Elijah was determined to avoid a repeat of that day.

The second time he fed, he sought her out. He could go several days without blood before he started to really feel his need for it, and Elijah was not happy with their circumstances. He did worry that at some point, Rachel would grow resentful or, worse, fearful. He didn't want her to dread his visits, always thinking that he was coming to her only for her blood.

She hadn't shown any sign of being uneasy with it, this second time. He hadn't even needed to tell her what he'd come for. She only just held out her arm, offering him her wrist. He felt the wince in her mind when he bit down, a small shock of pain and emotional discomfort. She didn't enjoy this. Truthfully, neither did he. This spell placed on him had reduced his soul-mate to a food source and his hatred for the Bone Witch boiled . . . she would pay for this manipulation.

But hate and thoughts of vengeance were not what he wanted to linger on. Not now, with Rachel asleep in his arms and only a few minutes of quiet left before the household began to stir.

She'd come to him early that morning, announcing herself through their bond so that he was dressed and waiting for her when she arrived at the compound. It was still dark out, the first hint of day a faint white shine on the horizon. Scarcely there. Elijah had been curious but interested by this unexpected visit. She'd come, because it had already been four days since his last feeding and she was worried for him. He hadn't come to her the night before, equally worried of the damage chronically low blood pressure might cause in his human mate but she was insistent.

He bit her, feeding quickly and cleanly from her wrist while Rachel rested her head on his shoulder the way she had the first time. Afterwards, he'd taken her to his bed and lay down with her so that she could rest and recover from the worst of the resulting weakness.

And Rachel, trusting and untroubled his vampire nature cuddled against him and fell asleep. She recognized the absence of any sort of danger to herself. She did not see him as a monster. And it had been so long since he could look into eyes that carried not even a shadow of doubt or fear at his presence. It was like a balm, soothing him and easing the secret pain of centuries of being un-trusted. Elijah Mikaelson . . . notorious for keeping his promises, for following through on any oath but still a vampire. A monster.

He could be ruthless. Driven. Terrifying. But that was not all there was. He was not a monster and the sting of distrust and caution that haunted him and his family cut deeply. A peculiar sort of loneliness.

All Rachel knew of him, however, was what he'd shown her. And those parts were real. She saw Elijah without the stigma associated with his family name and their history of heinous acts spread across centuries. He'd shown her the man, and had never realized that by doing so he was showing her the best parts of himself.

Elijah drew a deep breath, feeling a moment of profound contentedness. A soft peace that was so rare, both to him and to his siblings he almost wished he could somehow share this feeling with them. He wished he could hold this moment frozen forever in time so that it would never end. And he could lay here with Rachel, just like this, and nothing would ever trouble them.

He passed the fingers of one hand over her smooth cheek, brushing back a single strand of hair and pressed his mouth to her forehead in a brief, intimate meeting of lips on skin.

"Rachel," he whispered softly. "It's time to wake up."

Whether reacting to his touch or to his voice, she stirred to wakefulness. He felt rather than saw her curl the fingers of her one hand into a loose fist while keeping it firmly over his heart and the gesture warmed him. Something so small, it fueled his feelings for her. She was protecting him while she slept. There was no need, of course. He could not be killed and she now knew it, too.

That didn't matter.

His heart was hers, and she kept it safe.

Elijah smiled and leaned his head back with blatant amusement at the rather poetic thought. Rachel sighed and returned to her sleeping position, snuggling into Elijah's shirt. She closed her eyes but did not return to sleep.

"What time is it?" she asked softly.

Elijah responded, "A little past seven."

"You could have waited until eight, to wake me," she muttered.

"But then you would have been late," he told her, smiling at the sparkle of humor dancing over their bond. Hers.

She said, "I know. But then I would have had an excuse to stay right here. Why rush if I'm already running late, eh?"

Elijah chuckled and Rachel smiled. She stretched a little, arching her neck and shoulders to loosen muscles then settled back against him. Elijah was perfectly happy keeping her there but that would be irresponsible. For both of them.

"Rachel?"

She heaved a small sighed and tilted her head to look at him, "If I asked you to compel my teachers into thinking I actually attended classes today . . ."

She let it hang.

"I _**could**_ do that," Elijah said. He smiled and nuzzled at her throat a little, making Rachel squeak. "But I won't."

"Why? Not?" she asked, wiggling a little and laughing as she tried to escape his grasp. Elijah locked his arms around her, trapping her with what amounted to only a fraction of his actual strength. But she didn't need to know that.

"We are not using compulsion to get you out of your lessons," he said, his breath hot on her throat and Rachel felt a small frisson of desire. A slight rush of heat. Smirking, very aware of her reaction to his nearness Elijah brushed his lips over her throat again.

"You really expect me to believe _**you**_ have never used compulsion to get out of doing stuff you'd rather not do?" she demanded.

"Hmm," Elijah said, noncommittally. He allowed his fangs to descend, scraping them teasingly over the skin of her throat and Rachel gasped. He sensed no unease in her. Encouraged, he did it again and smirked with purely male satisfaction as his sensitive hearing picked up the increased rhythm of Rachel's heart.

She must have caught some of that because Elijah received a quick glare before Rachel very deliberately drove her elbow into his stomach. The sharpness of her response, coupled with the laughter dancing in her eyes and the comfortable happiness in her mind was nearly Elijah's undoing. He tightened his hold on her a moment, hugging her close now rather than restraining her. This . . . _**this**_ was what he spent a thousand years waiting for. Longing for. His heart hurt, squeezing with a sharp pain in his chest until he thought he would burst from it.

Rachel sensed the change in him. The flickering fade of playfulness slipping into some other emotion and she grew quiet. Slowly, she wiggled around in his arms until she had turned herself over to face him. She reached up and placed one soft hand on his cheek, holding him so gently. Her skin warm and alive. Her touch loving. Tender.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rachel's gaze and the thousand secrets hidden in those clear gray and amber eyes. She smiled at him, and slid her hand from his cheek to his jaw, following the line around to his neck. Her fingers brushed the dark hair at the nap of his neck and paused. Her palm hovering over the large artery there and he knew she was feeling his pulse beneath the skin. The strong beat that she had yet to realize was matching hers.

"I'm not going anywhere, Elijah," she said, her gaze softening. The intensity of that crystal stare going liquid. She breathed and added, "The other day, when you . . . uh, we . . ."

He couldn't help himself. Elijah smirked.

She hurried on, a slight flush staining her cheeks, "You know that you didn't . . . I wasn't coerced into saying anything I didn't mean. I love you, Elijah. I really do."

He knew. It was good to hear it, but he'd known already. That night, he only meant to make Rachel realize it herself. What he hadn't counted on was how eagerly she would respond to his touch. Or how the feel of her there, against him, her skin tender and warm beneath his lips and her orchard-and-apples scent ripe on his tongue would set fire to his blood.

And by the deepening flush crawling up Rachel's neck, she was remembering it, too.

"It feels weird, saying the words," she confessed. "But I mean them."

Elijah pressed his lips to Rachel's forehead, appreciating the little shiver that rolled through her. He said, "I know."

She pressed against his chest, then, and he released her. Rachel was smiling but she looked just a little breathless. "If I don't leave now, I'm never going."

Elijah lingered on his bed a moment, one hand braced behind his head as he watched her slip on her shoes. He felt her absence acutely, the warmth from her body having warmed him for more than an hour as she slept fading quickly in the relatively cool room. He knew that she had to leave, and that if she didn't go now she would be late but Elijah was loath to let her leave just yet.

"I have something for you," he said, coming off the bed.

He walked over to his set of antique dresser drawers and lifted the lid of a small lacquered box sitting on top. He turned to Rachel, catching her as she was pulling on her denim jacket. She walked curiously over to where he waited, tugging her hair out of the collar and let it fall over her shoulders. The interest in her mind told him that she really had no idea what he might have gotten her, and Elijah was sure that it was not anything she would have expected.

He waited until Rachel had joined him before he pulled a small something out of the box. He held it up, so that Rachel could see what was in his hand and thoroughly enjoyed the blank look she offered him. Not understand what it was he had.

Clutched between two fingers was a delicate glass vial attached to a slender gold chain. Inside the vial, glinting crimson in the bright morning sunlight was a viscous liquid that was unmistakable. Blood.

Rachel really did seem to be at a loss.

"My blood," he explained. Elijah bowed his head, and took one of Rachel's hands in his. He placed the vial on her palm and gently closed her fingers over it. "Keep this with you always, Rachel. My protection, for whenever I can't be there. Should you ever find yourself wounded, alone, in need of healing, drink it. For strength."

A girl who by every right should have had no enemies at all . . . had too many, and they were multiplying. Not only her own foes, the demon and now the witch but also his. Those who would harm her for her association with the Originals. She mattered to him, and his love endangered her.

The sun rose higher, light lancing through the glass of his windows heating the room. Little shining motes dancing in the bright sunshine.

Standing there with him, holding that little glass vial Rachel lifted her chin and offered a tender, touched smile and said, "Even when I'm alone, you'll be there."

"Always," Elijah swore, feeling his own power roll with the fierceness of that promise.

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Elijah was not my first kiss.

I wished he was. That night on the riverwalk had been amazing. Mind-numbing and . . . impossible. Things this good didn't happen in real life, did they? Well, clearly they did but it seemed just as make-belief as those cheesy movies I used to watch with my mom when I was little. Curled up with her on the sofa, hugging a floppy-eared bunny to my chest as I watched with wide-eyed wonder at what was happening on our television.

Too young to understand, but still enchanted as a handsome man and his elegantly dressed lady would fall into each other's arms with the Eiffel Tower sparkling gloriously in the back and some great, orchestral composition rising dramatically to punctuate the love and passion of the moment.

A nice fantasy to play with while growing up, but I was practical. Realistic. First off, I was fairly certain I actually needed to _**go**_ to France if I wanted to kiss anybody in front of the Eiffel Tower at night. Second, even though I did hope to meet someone someday and maybe fall in love with them, start a family, the love I'd imagined I might find was . . . normal. Affection. Tenderness.

It shocked me to realize that until now, I never really believed in _**love**_.

I could care deeply for someone. Love them, sure, but not like this. Not passionately.

What I felt for Elijah was intense. It was all-consuming.

What was love and what was obsession? How was I supposed to tell the difference?

. . . obsession was having him on the mind every second of the day. Obsession would be being unable to leave him. Calling him. Needing him all the time . . .

I didn't feel those things. When we were apart, I was fine. I would think of him, periodically though the day but I didn't obsess. I could pull comfort from that, at least. I was in love with him, but not obsessively so. So I was still healthy, then?

Well, I _**was**_ walking around with a vial of my beloved's blood on a chain around my neck. But I wasn't just being weird, there. Vampire blood could heal. There was an actual purpose to keeping it with me. The little vial wasn't just a container, though, and I got a chance to really look at it during my first class that morning.

The glass was thick, so that it wouldn't just break on me. The lid could be easily unscrewed by twisting it around but I didn't think it would just come off on its own. And there was a small gold figure on the lid, connecting the vial to the slim chain I wore around my neck now. The figure was very small, and was in the form of a bird. A lovely little songbird, wings folded neatly.

It was pretty. It didn't look weird at all. Anyone not paying close attention might just thing I was wearing a pendant.

Two weeks had passed since our . . . hell, was _'kiss'_ even the right word for it? . . . by the river. Nothing out to get me had come for me in that time. Everything had been quiet. Peaceful, even. September turned to October, and the memory of that kiss could still make my toes curl. But he hadn't done it again, and I did not have anywhere near enough courage to kiss him first.

Lunch.

My pathetic social circle which had once included only Becky and me, had widened to include the entire wrestling team and a few scattered girls who occasionally joined us. It was not a bad social climb though I was perceptive enough to know it was all Ryan's doing. King of his little world . . . I winced. That was unfair. He wasn't a bad guy, I just had a hard time figuring him out.

The redhead I'd dumped my lunch on that first day was called Angela. I was happy just calling her Red. Not to be mean, but only because it's how I thought of her before learning her name so it stuck. She'd conveniently moved out of the team's window table when Becky and I started joining them.

Her migration was interesting. She'd gone from Ryan's lap; star and captain of the school's wrestling team, over to the table closer to the exit doors that was owned by the senior boys' basketball team. I really doubted she had a thing for sports. It was the prestige of being with the school's athletic elite she enjoyed.

I fit in at our new table fairly easily, but poor Becky – we were friends, and loyal me refused to leave her behind – had been brutally uncomfortable for days. But then one of Ryan's friends struck up a conversation with her, and things settled. Beck and I were now officially welcome at _Ryan's Table by the Windows_.

Speaking of His Majesty, Ryan was a good ten minutes late to lunch. I found out why the second he sat down and set his paper-wrapped submarine sandwich on the table beside me. Only _**he**_ could skip third period to get lunch and not end up in detention. Because he was so _**special**_.

Ryan caught my look and smirked. "Want half?"

"Not really," I said. Liar.

I'd brown bagged my lunch today and it was only just leftovers from dinner the night before. I would have liked half of that sandwich. Maybe even a sip from his large waxed cup of orange soda. I was craving sugar like nobody's business, which I figured was probably caused by the blood I donated that morning.

Ryan unrolled his twelve-inch sub and I looked away, turning my attention to Becky's conversation to save myself the agony of denying myself all that yummy processed meat and lettuce and cheese and mayonnaise.

Becky, "We're carpooling. What does it matter?"

"I chugged a bottle of bourbon at the last one," Ryan-lackey said, looking a little sick.

Becky shrugged. "So? Don't do that again." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And like hell you chugged a bottle of _**anything**_ that strong."

"Look, ask your friend alright," he said.

"You ask her," Becky shot back. "Do I look like your secretary?"

"Well, yeah. You kinda do," he said, laughing and very quickly ducking when Becky went to shove him in mock-outrage.

It made me smile.

Ryan tapped my hand, and I turned back to him to find he'd sliced a quarter off his sandwich and slid it over to me on a paper towel. My stomach rolled with hunger but I hesitated.

Ryan said, "Just have it."

It would be rude and stupidly-stubborn to refuse again, so I pulled the sandwich closer and said, simply, "Thanks."

He nodded and put his elbows on the table, holding half of his sub up and taking a big bite.

"You joining us, Friday?" Ryan asked me, chewing. He put the sandwich down.

I glanced at him. "What's going on?"

"Huge party at Lafayette Cemetery," Ryan told me, grinning. "Halloween party."

Party at a cemetery. Of course. Halloween party in a cemetery . . . not exactly an original concept, though.

"We'll pick you up," Ryan said. "Bunch of us carpooling. Safer that way, going as a group."

Ah. Carpooling. That's what Becky and Ryan-lackey were talking about.

Could be fun, if a bunch of us were going together but I hesitated. Demon. Bone Witch. Ghosts. Vampires . . . yeah. Rayzael. He'd vanished off the face of the Earth, or so it seemed, ever since the Bone Witch negated his brands but that creature still terrified me. And with the slew of other supernatural creatures I now knew for sure were real . . . the spookiness of a graveyard at night didn't seem like just harmless fun anymore. Anything could be prowling around in there.

"I'm not sure," I hedged, knowing that Ryan was waiting for some kind of answer.

He flashed his quick, trademark smirk and leaned back in his chair. "What are you afraid of, kitten? Ghosts? Or maybe you've heard the rumor."

"What rumor?" I asked.

Pleased by the question, Ryan lowered his voice to try and sound mysterious and whispered, "They say there are _**real**_ witches entombed there. That that's _**their**_ place."

It was a joke. He was just trying to be cute but a slow, creeping shiver crawled up the length of my spine anyway.

After some very long couple of seconds, Ryan laughed and rapped his knuckles on the table.

"I'm kidding," he assured me. "It's just a cemetery. Really, Rachel. You spook way too easy."

Right. Of course.

I took a breath, deliberately loosening the rubber-band tightness around my lungs and took a bite of the sandwich Ryan shared with me. It was delicious and my body went cold and then very warm with appreciation at the nourishment. I was going to have to start eating better, so long as Elijah needed my blood. To make up for what I lost.

"So, you coming?" Ryan asked again, pushing for an answer.

I swallowed hard. This was stupid. I could feel Elijah's vial against my skin, safely hidden under my shirt. I could feel my own sense of ridiculousness. This was where I belonged. With friends. Going out to a party, to have a good time. It would be good, wouldn't it? To reclaim some of my former normalcy?

"Sure," I said, foreboding rising sharply inside me. "What time?"


	35. Chapter 34 - Seek Answers,Find Questions

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 34**

**SEEK ANSWERS, FIND QUESTIONS**

* * *

"Know thyself? If I knew myself, I'd run away!"

– **Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

On Friday, I skipped lunch instead going up to the computer lab to make use of the bit of free time I had. The classroom was empty when I got there and booted up one of the computers, and I wasn't sure if I was even allowed to be doing this. But the door hadn't been locked, and was even left wide open so I figured that if anyone objected to my presence I could just claim ignorance.

I didn't know I wasn't permitted.

The only reason I didn't go down to use the library computers – a place where students were perfectly allowed to frequent during the lunch hour – was because of the total lack of privacy. Each computer was taken by some nitwit playing a game and tables were filled by freshmen eating their lunches; too skittish to brave the hoard in the cafeteria.

So Sean and I went up to the empty computer lab on the third floor of the school, and I logged in using my student account to access the internet while the ghost wandered around the room looking at things. I wasn't entirely sure why Sean decided to join me, today. He did tend to follow me around in between his disappearing acts but this was the first time he accompanied me to school . . . except for those five minutes in Chemistry on the first day. And let me just say, trying to focus on schoolwork with an invisible ghost bopping around the classroom, looking over other students' shoulders and making wisecracks that only _**I**_ could hear wasn't easy.

He actually had the gall to stand right next to one of my teachers in the middle of a lecture, mimicking her as she tried to explain the rather complicated series of events leading up to the Thirty Year War. I remember absolutely nothing of what the teacher was saying, too caught up by what Sean was doing.

He wandered up and down the front of the class, only stopping to see what my teacher was doing whenever she would scrawl something on the board. Everyone else, oblivious to the ghost, would dutifully copy down notes in their books.

Sean would look at me, arch a brow and say, "You see the irony of having chosen European History as your second elective, right? Think Elijah can help you pass this one? He lived through all of it . . ."

I buried my face in my hands and very quietly said, "Shut up, Sean!"

Not quietly enough. I earned a stern glare from the teacher and some muffled snickers from my classmates but I wasn't reprimanded. I was going to find a way to kill that ghost.

_Go home, Sean!_

By the time lunch rolled around, I was stressed and ready to go home. But not yet. I was not taking Sean with me to the usual lunch table by the windows. I did not want to see what he would make of Ryan and the others. So it was a relief to lead the ghost away from everyone else, up to an empty room on the mostly deserted third floor. There were teachers taking advantage of the forty minutes where everyone was downstairs to grade papers or whatnot in their empty classrooms but for the most part, we were by ourselves.

"Tell me what you feel," Sean said, wandering back up the row of computers to where I was. I'd chosen a desk by the back corner, so that I wouldn't be immediately spotted by anyone who happened to glance in the room.

I kept my gaze fixed on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I really didn't know what to type into the searchbar.

"Rachel," Sean said. "Tell me what you feel."

"Frustrated," I muttered. Shot the ghost a glare. "_**Annoyed**_."

"Oh, please," Sean said, not even pretending he didn't know what I was talking about. "I keep things interesting."

Interesting alright. That was one word for it. I certainly wasn't bored!

"Look, I did tell you I have no senses," Sean said, frowning seriously. "So you have to tell me. What do you feel? What do you smell?"

Oh, jeez.

"It's the computer lab, Sean," I muttered, and leaned my elbow on the table. I lay my chin in my hand and sighed. "Smells like plastic and industrial carpet. What d'you expect?"

Sean sighed and slumped in the chair at the desk next to me. "Is it warm in here?"

"Not really," I told him.

Sean glanced over. "Windows are open. There's a breeze."

"Yeah." I frowned. Looked at Sean, paying closer attention to him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" he said, way too quickly to be convincing.

Right. My heart went out to him. Sean's smoky blue gaze swept around the room again, and I was perceptive enough to catch the longing in his eyes. The unhappiness he tried very hard not to let show. And all at once, I understood his motivation for his behavior today. He was being a pain, but he was only just lonely. Sean was dead. No one could see him, or hear him, or had any idea that he was around. It was like he didn't even exist.

Except for me. I could see him, talk to him, pay attention to him.

But I got so busy; caught up with my own conflicts, the multiple attempts on my life and the complication of a soul-mate bond. And now, with my relationship with Elijah finally starting to happen I had even less time to spend with the ghost.

No wonder he decided to move into my home permanently. No wonder he was acting out, today.

He was . . . lonely. Lonely in a way I couldn't possibly understand, because no matter how isolated I might feel he was completely by himself. And I was ignoring him. Never on purpose, but too busy to just spend time and that was just as bad.

"We have forty minutes to look up my long-lost ancestor," I said, deciding to include him in what I was doing.

Sean looked quickly over. "Thomas?"

"Yes," I said. "Elijah and I agreed that finding the guy should be our first step in all this. Problem is that Rayzael wasn't very specific when he commanded me to find him. I don't even know if we're related from my mom's side of the family or my dads'. I have no idea how to go about doing this."

Grateful to have something to do, Sean leaned forward and looked at the computer screen. I noted that the light did not reflect in his eyes, or his face. It really _**was**_ like he wasn't even there.

"You can try typing his name into the search engine," he suggested.

I smiled. "Type what? _'Thomas'_ is pretty common. Or at least, it's not uncommon. And I don't know what his surname is."

"Give him yours," Sean said. "Thomas Harding."

I shrugged and did, typing it into the searchbar but I didn't have much faith in the results. And I was right. There were too many hits. Way too much to sift through. And most were links to people who had that name right now, in this day and age. It wasn't impossible that my ancestor – still alive and kicking – would have an online presence but I doubted it. He was in hiding, running from a demon with a personal score to settle. It made sense that he would make himself as hard to find as possible.

I needed to know who he was in the past, before I tried to find him in the present. Closing my eyes, I tried to pull up the memory Rayzael had shown me once. The memory of Thomas, the image branded into my brain through sheer agony as Rayzael tortured me in the meantime was crystal clear in my mind even now, weeks later. Thomas was a skinny, wide-eyed man with reddish brown hair. He'd been wearing suspenders, I remembered suddenly. A sweat-stained, long sleeved shirt and rough brown pants held up by suspenders.

So he couldn't be that far back in the past.

Smirking, knowing it would look ridiculous but aware that it was a good clue I typed _'history of suspenders'_ into the searchbar and waited for the results.

Sean blinked, reading what I wrote and shooting me a confused glance.

But my grin widened.

"Our first lead," I told him. I tapped the screen with my finger. "1820. The invention of the modern suspender."

"Okay . . ." he said.

I said, "In the vision the demon showed me, Thomas was wearing suspenders. He couldn't do that _**before**_ they were invented, Sean. Which means he can't be more than a hundred and . . . ninety years? Yeah. A hundred and ninety five years. He's got to be younger than that."

"Great," Sean said with a small laugh. "Other than the fact that I'm impressed you just did the math in your head, this guy was born sometime in the past two centuries. Doesn't exactly narrow it down, does it?"

I shrugged. "He could be older."

"Why isn't Elijah doing this?"

"Elijah's doing his own thing," I said. "And I can carry my weight. This is _**my**_ stupid ancestor we're looking for. C'mon Sean. I'm not useless."

"I never said you were," he said and narrowed his eyes. "Did you just get defensive? Fascinating."

Yeah. My attention turned back to the computer, and the information on the screen. Admittedly, Thomas-wears-suspenders were a rather weak clue. I would need better. Sean was right. A couple centuries were way, way too many years to sift through. Who was this mysterious, shallow ancestor of mine?

Not for the first time, I wondered how he could have been so stupid as to deal with a demon. How desperate had he been for an increase in power? That made him pathetic on top of dumb. And it infuriated me! Actually enraged me whenever I thought of it. All of this was his fault. His weakness followed his bloodline down to me, so that I was the one suffering in his place.

I clenched my hands into fists. Anger rising sharply. Hot rage.

I frowned, momentarily bewildered by the very sudden and terrible rush of emotion. Sean looked at me, raising his brows. I stared back, my confusion effectively numbing the fury and I realized that the taught ribbon of invisible light, the soul-bond, was fairly humming with emotion.

Elijah. Was. Pissed.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Elijah was a survivor. It didn't hurt that he was invincible, but on top of that he had a real gift for adaptation. For recognizing when it was best to advance, and when to give ground. Where his siblings suffered from the irrational fear that to loosen their hold on any power captured was the ultimate show of weakness Elijah knew better. He understood the difference between surrender, and simply choosing not to fight.

He allowed himself only a moment to appreciate the harshness of the decision he was making; to bargain once more with the very creature who sought to punish him for his hubris. She had meant to cower him with her curse and she failed, but her will was as strong as his own and it was time to repair some of the damage done. For Rachel's sake, Elijah would make peace with the Bone Witch or at least arrange a ceasefire. He could not fight a war on all fronts and he would not threaten Rachel's life by trying.

Part of Elijah's attempt to show he meant to make peace had been to allow the Witch to choose the location of their meeting. Any number of places had seemed like a viable option for the mysterious and seductive woman, but a filthy dive at the edge of the bayou had not occurred to him. He was half convinced she chose this location solely to make him uncomfortable. It didn't work. As if he never slummed it before.

"You never lacked for courage, my love," she said, peering at him from over the heavy lip of her beer mug. "I was not surprised to receive your invitation."

"And _**you**_ never lacked the desire to make those who cross you regret the decision," he countered, softening the blow by taking a small drink from his own glass. All very casual. He meant it to hide the slow anger simmering in his chest. It had been there for days but Elijah would allow none of it to slip through. He added, "You've made your point."

"And what point was I trying to make?" she asked him, coyly.

Elijah would not be baited. He answered honestly, "Your power surpasses my own."

"My power does no such thing," the Witch denied, startling Elijah by laughing. Her voice like the tinkling of silver bells, so at odds with her dark and sultry figure. "My power is only an extension of my intention. It was you, Elijah, who played a hand without understanding what exactly it was you held."

Elijah stayed still a moment, meeting the Bone Witch's gaze from across their table. Her eyes, the same cypress green as the bayou moss glinted in the smoky half-light of the barroom. They caught the horrid blue and red shine from the neon sign on the wall, capturing even that as easily as they drew candlelight. Trapping it all within the depths of her unsettling gaze.

"What exactly is it you want, Elijah?" asked the Witch. "Why did you call for me?"

"I would have thought that was clear," Elijah said.

The Bone Witch hummed, her red painted lips pressed into a tight line. She knew what he was talking about, and Elijah noted that though she did not seem particularly pleased with herself for what she'd done to him, she also showed no sign of regretting it.

"My spell," she said, after a moment.

"Your _**curse**_," Elijah said tightly. "Forcing me to feed off the blood of one, and only that one. A very precarious position you've placed me in."

"One?" the Bone Witch echoed, mocking him. She batted her lashes. "Let us speak plainly, Elijah. I cursed you to feed off the blood of your soul-mate."

The unapologetic confession did nothing to endear her to him, but Elijah kept a firm hold over his rolling emotions. Swallowing his fury, he managed a small smile. He was sure it didn't reach his eyes but it was the best he could do.

"You've known the entire time," he said, unwilling to make a fool of himself by denying it.

She shrugged one delicate shoulder.

"How?"

That wasn't so important, but the Witch chose to answer him anyway. "I've known it from the very beginning, my love. I saw it when you first appeared to me, asking for my aid centuries ago. From before you became vampire. From the moment you were born, it was there. You were always halved, Elijah. You were always incomplete. How could I not know it?"

_**Always**_. Elijah trembled slightly. Always, he'd been missing those parts of himself. Rachel. Only she could fill those empty corners of his soul. Fill the holes. But it required meeting her for that bond to be completed.

The Witch had always known . . . and when Elijah came to her that night, to bargain to have Rachel's demonic glyphs removed, the Witch must have been spectacularly surprised to find that that emptiness had been filled. After a thousand years, Elijah had finally found her. He was complete.

Rather than relieve him, however, the idea enraged him.

He saw red. A thousand years alone when he didn't have to be. A thousand years with a soul-mate waiting for him . . . and not once had the Witch thought to inform him? Only . . . no. No, there had not been a millennia apart for either of them. Rachel was human. She hadn't even been born until recently.

Confusion cooled his temper. How was that possible?

"You should have been half-crazed from wanting me that night, Elijah," the Witch said, very matter-of-fact. "I tempted you to be sure that your bond was true. Oh, if only you could have seen it. My magic and seduction seeping into your skin. I did everything in my power to sway you, my love, and yet you wanted nothing to do with me. It was all so terribly frustrating."

"Knowing what you did," Elijah said carefully. "Only makes the curse that much more cruel."

_Vicious,_ he thought. _Cruel, certainly, but also vicious._

Again, the Witch offered a silver laugh. "Whatever you may think of me, Elijah, I am not the villain in this. What I did, I did it for you."

"How does forcing me to feed off her, off my soul-mate, benefit anyone?" he demanded, more sharply than he meant. His control over his temper starting to slip.

"Move back a little, my love, and you'll see it clearly," the Witch said, lightly teasing. "Every time you feed from her, but do not harm her, you grow closer. By forcing your girl to face the vampire again and again, she is essentially desensitized to the last of her inherent fear of your nature."

Elijah sat still. Dark eyes silent as he listened to the Witch speak. His mind was a jumbled mess of thought, turning over what she was saying but he gave none of his inner conflict away. The Bone Witch loosed a slow, sultry smile. Her lips painted bold, vibrant red turning up even as her own eyes turned smoky. Seduction bleeding off of her so that the mortal men seated around them took interest. The pair of werewolves at the bar exchanged quick glances. One threw down a stack of bills to pay for their drinks, and then they both very quickly slipped out.

_Wolves did have a particularly keen instinct for survival,_ Elijah thought.

"You both will need that unwavering trust," the Witch went on, after a moment. "Your girl cannot be allowed to gradually abandon her instinctual fear of the predator, Elijah. It would have happened by itself, with time, to be sure. But we do not have that time to wait, and so I am forcing it. I can feel the change in the wind. I can feel it on my skin. Things are happening and you two are caught in the very centre of it all."

"What have you done?" Elijah asked.

"Me?" the Witch shook her head, causing her long fall of ebony hair to gleam with purple lights. Currents that shimmered through the strands like the fall of raven feathers. He narrowed his eyes. "I've done nothing, my love. You may want to search for the orchestrator of this particular game elsewhere. To be sure, there is intention. Were I you, I would say ask my little mortal mate. She knows. Or at least, she already suspects. Nothing is yet certain."

Elijah released the first frustrated breath of the day. He rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension there and the Bone Witch slipped a small package across the table. He looked at it, suspicious and unwilling to blatantly accept a gift from Witch who had already once deceived him. She kept her hand on top of the paper-wrapped bundle, however. Waiting for him to take it. Her long, nimble fingers with nails painted a delicate coral. Soft skin deceptively youthful. She was older than he was.

"No tricks, Elijah," she said, very seriously. "A gift for your girl. She will need it, I think, to keep her demon contained. The creature will return for her, and for you."

Hesitating only a moment longer, Elijah made his decision. He took the package. It was heavy. The object inside felt hard. He cast a quick glance up, meeting the Bone Witch's suddenly quiet eyes and then slipped the paper off the object. Deliberately holding it angled away from his own body. The paper came off easily, and it took all of his control not to start with genuine surprise at what he held in his hands.

A smooth, cream-white knife with a slightly curved blade as long as his hand was tall. It was a knife made of bone, though the edge gleamed metallically with a razor-sharpness.

"Fate is never fair, Elijah. Your mortal mate will not escape what is coming by hiding herself behind your protection. You both are caught in a current much stronger than you can imagine. Struggle against it and you'll drown, not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it, and you'll survive."

"What is coming?" Elijah asked, voice low. He grasped the Bone Knife in his hand, and felt the knife hum with secret spells. Magic heating against his skin.

The Witch only just smiled.


	36. Chapter 35 - One Thousand Years

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:** _Hey all! I just wanted to say that the graveyard party everyone is looking forward to seeing Rachel attend – even though she knows she really shouldn't, and __**we**__ know she really shouldn't – will happen next chapter! haha So no worries that I forgot about it._

_I also wanted to offer a quick reminder that _'A Red Sun Rises'_ has __**two**__ "Official" videos. Both are posted on my Profile page, if anyone is interested. The first was made for me by _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_ and is set to the song "Favorite Faded Memory" by Damien Rice._

_The second video is one that was made by me. Yep, DayStorm made a video! It's set to the song "Warrior" by Beth Crowley. And it turned out splendidly, if I do say so myself! haha_

_Also, I received an absolutely gorgeous poster for _'A Red Sun Rises'_. A gift from _Monkey-gone-to-Heaven_ for my birthday. The poster is set against the French Quarter backdrop and shows Rayzael with his shining white eyes. A frustrated Klaus, ghost-Sean and the Bone Witch all up in Elijah's business. Rachel standing in the light. And if you look very carefully, you'll see that Erin is standing on one of the balconies! I really hope people go see. Definitely worth a peek. I titled it "The Cast of ARSR". :)_

_Cheers!_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 35**

**ONE THOUSAND YEARS**

* * *

"Who are you to judge the life I live? I know I'm not perfect – and I don't live to be – but

before you start pointing fingers . . . make sure your hands are clean."

– **Bob Marley**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

It wasn't only the wolves who possessed a keen sense for survival. Elijah, too, could measure the mood of a room and judge the appropriate course of action. And now, every sense he possessed told him that the wisest thing was to do nothing. He slipped the Bone Knife "gift" the Witch intended for him to give to Rachel into his jacket and sat carefully back in his chair. Magic from the enchanted weapon hummed faintly, trembling through the fine fabric of his jacket pocket, through his shirt into his skin.

The Bone Witch sipped from her heavy mug of inexpensive beer, leaving a stain of lipstick on the glass. Power swelled, pressure building in the smoky air so that it was almost as if the wooden walls pressed outwards. Splintering. The small, dirty bar on the edge of the bayou threatening to burst apart. She did not do that, of course. Tension built, then faded as the Witch regained control of herself.

"Your mother has too much to answer for," the Bone Witch said. She cast a furious glance towards Elijah, seated uneasily across from her and narrowed her eyes. "More than you know, and perhaps it is a mercy that until now, you were unaware of just how deeply she wronged you."

"My mother could be blamed for many things," Elijah responded, very carefully. He could feel the volatile energy crackling around the Witch and recognized that her temper was turning.

The Bone Witch curled her lip and tapped a fingernail against her mug.

Elijah tried again, hoping to draw the Witch into explaining herself. "I can certainly understand why the witches in particular would feel . . . slighted, by my mother's actions."

There was no question, there. Esther had nearly broken nature by turning her children into vampires. An abhorrent act, to those who revered nature as the source of their power. Esther was hated as much, if not more, than the vampires themselves for what she unleashed into the world. The reviled witch who caused an immortal plague. Elijah had heard this before. Often.

"As I said, your mother has too much to answer for," the Bone Witch repeated. "I am the only of my people alive, now, who remembers what it was like. We knew, my love. We felt the moment her abominable spell was cast. We felt it and knew that she succeeded. Her dark magic ripped through the ethers, tearing and rending at the very fabric of the world."

"And yet the world survived," Elijah countered, annoyed by the vehemence in the Bone Witch's tone. "Nature recovered from what was done, and magic returned without consequence. What did you mean, I was deeply wronged?"

"Nature heals itself," the Witch said softly. "Nature will always recover, however long it takes. The balance restores itself."

"How was I wronged?" Elijah pushed. "_**I**_, in particular?"

"You know the stories, Elijah," the Bone Witch said. Her eyes flared, flashing brilliant green for only a moment before returning to their natural earthy moss shade. "You know the legends and the fables. The mere idea of soul-mates has always been a fascination to the living. Most are only just stories. It is rare that soul-mates in particular draw attention to what they are."

She slid a coy look at him and smirked, "Because of that, only a few truths are known. A few certainties. The rest come from whatever romantic assumption dreamed up by those who have no idea."

A beat of silence followed those words. Elijah held still, waiting. Patient, now, for it was clear the Witch very much _**wanted**_ to tell him what she was only just dancing around. The Bone Witch tapped at her glass again, drawing Elijah's attention there but it was a brief distraction. He remained fixed on his companion, watching the play of emotion on her deceptively youthful face. She seemed frustrated.

"One truth," she went on, once it was clear Elijah did not intent to interrupt "is that soul-mates are halved. Two halves of one whole. Incomplete, so long as they are apart. _**That**_ you should already know. You feel her absence acutely, don't you? Even now."

He did. It was subtle, but he felt it as a sort of restlessness.

It would grow worse the longer he was away from her, inevitably drawing them together again. But because of the time they spent in each other's company just that morning, the longing he felt to reunite was still only the softest brush of discomfort. Easily ignored. So easily, in fact, that he found he was able to trick the instinct just by telling himself that he would see her later.

Elijah closed his eyes.

"The second truth, my love," the Witch said, and her voice had softened. She sounded nearly saddened by what she was going to say. "Is that soul-mates are always born within days of each other. The power of the bond will draw both halves into the world. I know you've thought on this. I know you've wondered . . ."

"I have," Elijah said quietly. It should not have been possible, and yet . . . he was born a millennia before his mate. Rachel. There was no doubt at all that she was the one. A thousand years younger than him but still very clearly his. How?

Silence.

He let his eyes fall open again, and found that the Bone Witch was waiting. She watched him with an expression he had never seen in her before. Admittedly, it was one he never would have thought her capable of. Compassion. And pity.

"I said your mother broke nature by creating the vampires, and she did," the Bone Witch said. She kept her gaze fixed with his, and Elijah was caught by the agelessness of them. He could not bring himself to look away. "To her credit, I do not believe Esther was aware that one of her sons was part of a soul-mate pair. It is so rare, it never would have even occurred to her to look for it. Whether it would have made a difference if she _**had**_ known, I cannot say."

"What did she do?" Elijah demanded. His heart thundered in his ears, nearly drowning out the Witch's voice. His throat had gone dry, forcing him to take a drink of the sour beer to moisten it.

"Your mate, Elijah, was born not seventeen days after you came into the world," the Witch said, very simply. "She was born in a Norwegian village very near to the one where you yourself were born. Shortly after that, your family journeyed to the land across the sea. The very land that would claim the life of your youngest brother, triggering the series of events that led to your death and unnatural rebirth as the first of an immortal race. The dawning of a new era, yes?"

Elijah had been holding his breath, and released the air in a rush of stinging hot. His lungs burning. His jaw tightened to where a small tension headache had begun to stab the area between his eyes.

"And . . . _**her**_?" he asked, his voice deepening from the tightness in his throat. His heart was now hammering in his chest, beating so hard he was vaguely worried Rachel might be feeling this, too.

"Her?" the Bone Witch echoed. "Your mate. The one out of them all who was perfectly yours."

Elijah speared the Witch with his gaze, allowing his own power to swell and leak out through them. The Bone Witch scarcely seemed aware of it, but she continued, "Your mother broke nature, Elijah. What do you think this caused, in a thing that is wholly natural?"

The Witch stabbed her finger down on the table surface, splintering the wood. Cracks spread out from the centre, like fractured glass. "You died, Elijah. Your death is what was required for the spell. Your life sacrificed so that you need never fear death again. However, the magic used to cut away what hold mortality had on you travelled along dormant soul-bond. It shot like an arrow from _**you**_ straight into _**her**_. Your death became hers. The very second your heart ceased to beat, your unfortunate mate was cut down. Her life was ended."

No.

Elijah tasted blood in his mouth, as his fangs slid down and cut into his gums. The pleasant buzz of blood swelling the veins around his eyes felt like the hiss of bees inside his head. Pain speared his heart, driving deep. Deep. He did not know this unnamed girl, but he felt for her. Dead because of something she could not have imagined. Magic cast on a man a world away; it was the end of her.

The Witch was still speaking. "However, where Esther's dark magic captured your soul and trapped it within your flesh, essentially locking you to this body and creating the first immortal vampire . . . your mate was truly dead."

"There can only be one," Elijah said. He couldn't retract his fangs. No one in the bar had yet noticed the blood filling his eyes, and it was a testament to Elijah's distress that he truly did not care if anyone saw. "_**One**_ soul-mate. Only one."

Rachel. Only her . . .

"True," the Witch agreed, with a small nod. "Do you not see what has happened, my love? Your mate was dead, but you were not. Immortal. Original. If your lives had been left alone, to continue on as they were meant to, then Fate would have brought you together. The third Truth is very simply that soul-mates will find each other. No matter where in the world you are, it would have happened."

"My path was altered," Elijah said. Pointlessly, because it could not have been any clearer that his destiny was not supposed to lead to vampirism. It had, but it was not meant to be. Esther had played with more than the natural order with her dark magic. How deeply had she drawn, and from where, to pull the power she'd needed for what she did?

"Your poor mate could not move on without you, my love," said the Bone Witch. "Whatever essence that is purely and completely oneself could not leave this world without her mate. _**Your**_ immortality tied her to this world. Little dove, trying to fly with a chain around its neck. She was locked to you."

A slow, creeping horror and disbelief filled Elijah as his mind made the leap. The connection. He didn't need to hear more to understand exactly what the Bone Witch was saying. The true injustice.

"A thousand years, my love. Your mate could go nowhere without you, and so she returned. Mortal. She would be born, age and die. Over and over again. She would die, and her soul would return in the next female baby being born. A cycle that has lasted, uninterrupted, for a thousand years."

"Reincarnated," Elijah muttered. The pain in his chest seemed to pierce him straight to his soul. He could scarcely breath through it.

"Yes," the Bone Witch said. Whatever pity she'd briefly shown before was gone. Her tone was cool, now. He needed to know and she'd told him. As if this was only a job that needed to be done, and then she could go home. "She would have been seeking you, in each of her lives. Each time with even more fervor than the last. The only relief your mate would know is that she would never remember her past lives. A mercy. Some were very brief."

The Witch shot Elijah a pointed look. "She did not survive to grow old in all of them."

No. Of course she wouldn't. Surviving was not always easy, and even less so in the earlier years. In his own time, when he'd still been human, only healthy children lived to grow up. And only strong adults lived to grow old. How many lives did she find herself, where she didn't live to grow up at all?

"And because of how thoroughly nature had been thrown from its balance, whatever it is that lead soul-mates to each other was broken in you," the Bone Witch added. She took another small sip from her glass mug of now-warm beer. The smudge of red lipstick smeared on the rim. "Therefore, you never did meet. Until now."

"Until now," Elijah agreed. Rachel. The reincarnation of his original mate. A thousand years . . . young. She was new and yet the part of her that was bound to him was ancient. She'd searched for him for all of his very long life. And he never knew.

Elijah clenched his fists, feeling his daylight ring bite into his skin and relishing the slight pain it caused. If he had known she was out there, he would have scoured the Earth for her. His mother might have been the cause of this, of unknowingly forcing him to endure his life alone – always missing that piece of himself that was most precious – but it was _**he**_ who had failed his mate. He failed her, by never knowing she existed.

"I have her now," he said, speaking to himself. Hardly aware that he'd spoken the words out loud.

"Yes, you do," the Bone Witch said, startling him. There was a wicked gleam shining in her green eyes. "She's here. With you. What are the odds, my love, that out of the whole world your mate would come to New Orleans now? What are the odds . . . that she would leap out a window at exactly the right time to collide squarely with her forever-lost soul-mate?"

Elijah drew a sharp breath, feeling the spike of power crackling around the Witch. She was nearly bursting with amused delight.

"A fated meeting?" Elijah asked.

The Witch nodded her head. "Nature has finally begun to realign. Those errors in the pattern are being corrected."

For one eternally long, motionless moment the whole world grew quiet. The buzz of music from the jukebox in the corner faded. The clank of glasses. The hiss of air in the lungs of other patrons, the rush of blood through their veins, the creak of tendon as they moved. Audible only to Elijah, his sensitive vampire hearing able to pick it all out of the air. Everything went silent.

The Bone Witch sat still, her eyes bright with interest as she watched him. He could only imagine what she was seeing and found that he didn't particularly care. Elijah grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and tugged it on, quickly buttoning it up as he prepared to leave. For now, he had nothing more to say. There was nothing else the Witch could possibly tell him that he was interested in hearing.

"Where are you going?" she asked, laughter tinkling in her voice.

Elijah didn't pause. He didn't respond. He left the bar.

* * *

The sun had only just begun to set over the crescent city, staining the sky with creamy pinks and the faintest hints of mauve. The sun was still up, brilliantly bright on the horizon as it quickly sank over the gleaming towers of the city. White light reflected off the window glass of skyscrapers. Elijah turned away from there, instead going east. Walking into the twilight, with the sun at his back.

Rachel was at the river, sitting alone on a bench looking over the water.

Sunlight tangled in her hair, deepening the rich gold and browns and melting the multitudes of shades into something warmer. Softer. That same light touched her soft skin almost lovingly, contouring the lines of her face so that she appeared to be glowing. It was as if she absorbed the light into herself, holding it for only a moment before releasing it back out into the air around her.

But it was her eyes . . . those eyes that had captured him from the first. Hazel brown. They were like glass, only they could never be cold. There was no ice in them. Soothing gray, crowned in fiery amber. Those eyes were at once sharp with cunning, but also quiet. Considering. Gentle but never frail. She was one who understood her strength and was contented by it.

She was proud without arrogance.

She was his. And Elijah felt that he was wholly unworthy of her. For the first time, he understood the occasional flicker he would see in them. The thing that drew him, and bothered him though he could never explain exactly why. Her eyes. She was an old soul. Very old.

"I knew you'd find me," Rachel said softly. She did not turn to look at him, fully aware of his presence only feet away. She kept her gaze steady on the river, and Elijah thought that she may have been watching the play of light on the water.

His heart ached at those words. _I knew you'd find me._

Spoken innocently, without any idea of what he had learned today. Unaware of the terrible injustice she was forced to endure.

Elijah took a breath and moved forward, bringing himself closer to Rachel. He could hear her heart beating. A strong, steady pulse. She was calm. She might have been sitting on this bench for a while.

A slight breeze gusted, scented with the river and grass and the city. It teased in her hair, lifting the strands in a ripple of fire and light. Rachel turned her head, then, pinning Elijah with her gaze and offering a small smile. She moved a little, inching to the side of the bench. Inviting him to sit with her.

"You were waiting for me?" Elijah asked, accepting the place she made for him by her side. His heart ached.

"For a while," Rachel said. She plucked at a loose sting on the sleeve of her denim jacket. "I was going to go home, once it got dark. But I think I'm safe enough with you here."

She shot him a cheeky grin. "I honestly pity any thug who takes a shot at you."

Elijah smiled, then, and bowed his head. Rachel's humor easing the tension he carried. He took her hand, feeling his heart lightening even more when Rachel eagerly laced her fingers through his. Her soft skin like a balm, sharing its warmth with him. He relaxed, allowing himself to absorb the simplicity of this moment. The quiet peace. He sensed it would not last for very long.

She sighed softly and said, "I was hoping I'd have a chance to talk to you before tonight. There's this party I'm being forced to attend."

"Forced?" Elijah said. He squeezed her fingers.

Rachel just laughed, "Everyone is going. Apparently, it's the place to be tonight. For the locals, I mean. My friends are going to be there . . ."

He caught her hesitation. Their bond trembled with her emotion, but those were fairly neutral. She was annoyed. Tired.

"Honestly, I would much rather just spend a quiet night in," she said, confirming what he thought. "But that is not an option."

Elijah didn't respond, sensing Rachel only just needed to vent. Her humor remained, seeping easily into him from over their bond.

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. "I'm going to spend my evening sitting on tombstones, drinking cheep beer from red plastic cups Elijah. A responsible adult would forbid me from going."

Elijah slanted a slow smirk and shook his head. "Tombstones?"

"Stupid graveyard party." She paused. "Elijah, tell me I can't go."

"Would you like me to?" he challenged.

She blew out a heavy sigh and leaned back on the bench. "No. I think maybe I really need to go to this party. I mean . . . everything can't be demons and vampires and ghosts, right?"

_**Ghosts?**_

Elijah glanced at his mate, but she didn't appear aware of what she'd said. She went on, "I need to be normal. At least a little bit. I don't think anything will ever be normal again . . ."

No. Probably not. Elijah did catch how she dipped her gaze, fixing her bright stare on her knees before quickly turning her eyes up again but he wasn't entirely certain how to respond to her hesitation. Again, he touched her mind and the shiver of unease he found there troubled him. He could feel her love for him so clearly, and he basked in it. Her doubts were not for him.

Something else was weighing on her. He looked away, turning to gaze down the length of the riverwalk and the scattering of people meandering along. They were alone, or as much as they could be in a public place. No one near enough to overhear them.

Elijah's gaze sharpened as their exactly location registered with him. He fixed his gaze on a black lamppost. This was where he'd kissed her for the first time. Only feet away, he'd teased her into confessing her feelings for him. And then he'd kissed her, drinking in the apple-orchard scent of her skin. The spice of her blood, which he had become too familiar in the weeks since then. The warmth of her body against his and Rachel's uncertain but eager response to his touch.

Did she realize it? Had she chosen this bench specifically because of the location, or was it only just coincidence that she was here? Right here, at this exact spot?

"Actually, there is something I wanted to run by you," she said, and pulled her hand out of his. He let her go, turning his attention back on the present. "Besides the party, I mean."

Rachel reached into the breast pocket of her denim jacket and pulled out a sheet of yellow paper, neatly folded over into a square the size of a napkin. She held it a moment, lowering her hands to her lap. She passed her thumb over the paper, hesitating, and then took a deep breath almost as if for courage. She turned her gaze on Elijah. Uneasiness spiked over their bond, capturing Elijah's quick interest.

"No secrets between us, right?" she said, very softly. "I didn't intend to keep this from you. Or at least, I never meant to but I sort of did. I just wanted to give it a shot by myself, first."

"What is it?" Elijah asked.

Rachel handed him the sheet, holding her breath as he unfolded it. The inside was a mess of pencil scribbles and lines of numbers crossed out and in some places completely blacked-out. Beneath the mess, written in what was a clearly frustrated hand were letters. Actual words.

"I got this thing in the mail a few months back," Rachel told him. "My cousin wrote it, and sent it to me. She disappeared the day this was mailed out, Elijah. I couldn't understand why it was written in code and . . . I guess after Erin disappeared I just didn't care enough to bother with it. Took me way too long to crack the code. It wasn't until the significance of it, that mailing this letter was the last thing Erin did before she was taken finally sunk in that I really started puzzling it out."

Yes, he could see that. The page was ripped in some places, where Rachel's pencil had torn through the paper in her frustration. _Desperation,_ he thought. Once she'd turned her attention to deciphering this puzzle she had been driven.

"Only, the numerical code was only half the challenge," she added. "Because it's _**still**_ coded and I don't understand what she's trying to say. Erin really didn't want anyone to get this before me. She did too good a job making this thing hard to figure out."

She leaned into his arm, and pointed at the page, drawing Elijah's attention to a specific part.

"Some of it is pretty clear, though," Rachel said, unnecessarily. "This part gave me chills. Right here, see?"

He saw. The next to last line.

'_**Save me, Rachel.'**_

"This is why I came to this city. This is what I'm doing here to begin with. I just need your help to figure out the rest of the letter."

Rachel came to New Orleans seeking her missing cousin. In the meantime, she found her soul-mate. A demon bent on using her, or killing her. A series of supernatural creatures she was raised believing were myth. And whatever else this city had yet to throw at her.

Despite all of this, she stayed steadfast and strong.

Rachel was on a mission. This letter was a plea for help.

From her cousin. A girl who might very well still be alive.

A girl who might not be one of the Seventeen Missing at all . . . but who's disappearance only coincided with those other.

Elijah closed his eyes, weariness pulling at his mind. What was happening in his city?

"I really need your help, Elijah," Rachel said. "I can't do this by myself. I tried. But I can't do it alone."

"You'll never have to," he assured her.

Alone. No, she would never have to face this world alone . . . never again. The Bone Witch's confession, the things he'd learned today rang in his head. Shame burned in his chest. The words catching his throat. He did not want to carry the burden of what he now knew, but the immense weight Rachel already carried as she feared for the lives of her family . . . he couldn't tell her.

"Go to your party tonight," Elijah said instead. He pressed a brief kiss to Rachel's forehead, and smiled when she shivered. "Enjoy yourself. I'll keep the note and see what I make of it."

She sighed. "Thank you, Elijah."

* * *

**ERIN'S NOTE TO RACHEL:**

Needed in New Orleans. Secrets and lies. Be careful.

Fire mirror. Fox in the light. Wolf key. Jewel in the river.

Save me, Rachel. Forgive me.

Erin


	37. Chapter 36 - The Trickster

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 36**

**THE TRICKSTER**

* * *

"Don't order any of the faerie food," said Jace, looking at her over the top of his menu. "It tends to make humans a little crazy. One minute you're munching a faerie plum, the next minute you're running naked down Madison Avenue with antlers on your head. Not," he added hastily, "that this has ever happened to me."

– **City of Bones**

Cassandra Clare, author

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

"Every girl needs at least one slutty black dress," Becky told me, pulling exactly that from the shiny steel bar where a dozen others sat all lined up in a neat, glittery row. We were in a small boutique just outside the Quarter, surrounded by expensive clothing, soft music tinkling out of discrete speakers and shiny hardwood floors.

In my clean but well-worn jean jacket, sweater and casual shoes I looked – and felt – woefully out of place. Was there a more uncomfortable feeling than being somewhere you knew you didn't fit in? The middle aged woman with the shiny gold nametag affixed to her lavender blouse wasn't paying us any particular attention at the moment, but I was half convinced she was going to check our bags on the way out. Just to make sure we weren't making off with any merchandise.

Becky seemed really impressed with the dress she'd picked out for me. A slick black, sleeveless number with just a hint of sparkle around the deep-plunging v-neck. She was holding it to her own chest, swaying her hips in a small dance. Cheeks flushed in giddy happiness.

"Um," I said. "No. Nope. I so do not need a slutty black _**anything**_."

Becky looked up, then, eyes narrowing. She looked me up and down critically, even as she kept swaying her hips.

"You know, you're right," she said. "Black is not your color."

"Great. And here I thought black was everybody's color," I muttered, mildly offended even though I really did not care. "Can't even look good in black. That's just sad."

"I didn't say you didn't look good," Becky was quick to point out. She held the dress out at arm's length facing me, so that I knew she was looking to see what it would be like if I was wearing it and shook her head.

"Black would wash you out," she said. "You need something brighter. More alive."

I huffed an annoyed breath, but Becky just ignored me. She hung the dress back on the rack and started flipping through clothes. The hangers made pinging noises as she worked, going through one after another and quickly dismissing each.

I followed my friend through the small store, going from one rack to another and briefly considered making a run for it. Decided against it, but only because abandoning a friend in the city after dark was rude. And dangerous. Crap. I was trapped.

I shot Becky a look, wondering if she'd done that on purpose. It did seem strange to me, shopping for clothes at night with the party we were expected to attend starting in, like, an hour.

_You brat!_ I thought furiously. She _**did**_ do it on purpose. Becky knew I'd take off if I could, so she made it so that I wouldn't.

"Ah-hah!" Becky pulled a hot pink dress with a skirt that would have come up to my . . . hips. I stared at the thing, a creeping horror filling my soul.

"No."

Becky cackled and held it up for me to see better. What there was to see. If that dress was any shorter, it would be a scarf.

"No," I said again, daring Becky to argue. I squeeze into that, I'd look like a hunk of bubble gum coated in Vaseline.

She dared. "You've got legs from here to there. You realize girls would kill to have legs like yours! You got to show 'em off."

"Becky," I said, very slowly. A warning in my voice. "Put. It. Back."

Another laugh from my supposed friend . . . she might have been trying to sabotage my reputation. I flashed a smirk and said, "I'll look like a hooker, Beck. And not a very expensive one, either."

Becky flushed and put the dress back. "I was only teasing. Besides, Ryan'll be there. I think he likes blue . . ."

And there it was.

I almost groaned out loud. Following my friend to the back of the boutique, where the classier dresses were, and said, "Becky, please. _**Please**_ tell me you're not trying to set me up with Ryan."

"He's hot!" she said, like that was all there was to it.

"He's not my type," I countered, really lamely.

Becky shook her head, whipping her hair a little as she did. "He's single. And he's so into you!"

"He's really not my type," I tried again.

She snorted. "Fine. So, what's your type?"

Tall, dark and immortal.

Elijah was lethal, with power that fairly bled out through his pores but he was tender, too. Kind. Protective but not overbearing. Elijah had the most soulful eyes. Piercing and startlingly dark. He heart was reflected in them. He could master it, bring the wall down so that those onyx-brown eyes turned cold but that was only just when he needed to. With me, they were warm. Expressive. Never hiding. Eager, I thought, to let me in. To show me more of himself than anyone else was ever allowed to know. And that was special. It meant a lot, that he trusted me to get that close.

I couldn't say any of that to Becky, though, so I sighed. "What if I told you I'm already seeing someone?"

"Like who?" Becky shot back. She snatched a pair of glittery gold sandals with heels off a table and grinned while presenting them to me.

"Just someone," I said. Again, really lamely. Wow, did I ever sound like I was making this up.

She tilted her head a little, gracing me with a sideways glance and said, "D'you and Ryan get in a fight or something? You know he's really into you, right? I mean, he's _**really**_ into you."

Yeah, I know.

"Becky," I said, very slowly. Like I was trying to explain something complex to a small child. "It took three weeks to even _**notice**_ he was flirting with me. I think it's safe to assume I'm not interested. At least, not as anything more than a friend."

Freaky fast, Becky dropped the sandals and grabbed my shoulders. Her eyes went dramatically wide and she said, "Hush! Not so loud. What's wrong with you? Do not friendzone the guy. He'll never forgive you for this!"

Oh, jeez. I shrugged off Becky's hands and she laughed, all humor again. She even stuck her tongue out at me.

I shook my head.

"You really do have great legs," Becky told me. "We can work with this. Something short, no tights. But not too short. Stay classy, right? No hooker-gear."

I could have happily facepalmed right there, if it wouldn't have looked dumb to do it in real life.

"Oh, my god!" Becky squealed. "Ohmygod! Ohmygod!"

My spine stiffened and I watched my friend scurry away. My head swung around. I saw the door. My escape from this boutique and the soft tinkling music and perfumed fabrics . . . and the sales lady was definitely starting to give me sideways glances. The store was closing, soon.

In just a second, Becky was back holding a slim piece of silk between two hands. She presented the dress to me like it was a golden find and I stared.

Slim and sleek, almost slick night-blue silk. It came down to mid-thigh, to show off as much leg as possible. The bodice would be held up by a single wire-fine strap that looked like it would curve around the wearer's neck, bringing attention there. Showing off the throat. The dress would hug curves, accentuating the elegance of a flawless body. Bodies that were all bone, because even an ounce of fat or muscle would bulge in this thing.

It was gorgeous. Clearly well outside what either of us could even dream to afford and it was exactly the sort of dress I would have expected Becky to pick out. The impossible one.

"Ryan would _**die**_ seeing you in this," she said, actually wiggling with excitement.

I turned my gaze on her and my mouth fell open.

Now, I didn't mean to think it. I had the presence of mind not to say it out loud. But I swear, completely by accident, the very first thing to pop into my head in response was: _'Ryan would die alright. Because Elijah would __**kill**__ him.'_

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

Niklaus.

If it wasn't for his brother's persistent, nearly obsessive search for information concerning the missing girl, Elijah might not have seen the significance of one of the clues as quickly as he had. It was in Erin's letter. Wolf Key.

The wolf was the key. Or . . . had the key.

As a hybrid, Niklaus was only part wolf and because of that Elijah would have dismissed him, instead going out to search through the full-blooded werewolves for the one mentioned in the letter. But no. He was certain the wolf Erin meant was his own brother. Of course, there was evidence elsewhere which pointed to this. The compulsion or spell which had altered Klaus' memories was there for months. Since before Rachel came to the city. Something, some memory which was hidden away.

Whatever his brother was compelled to forget; the one who did it had gone to quite a bit of trouble to play with the memory of the Original Hybrid. Klaus would not have been forgiving had their manipulation failed and the orchestrator would have known that. Quite a lot was risked when it was decided to involve Niklaus.

That, more than anything else, told Elijah that whatever it was Klaus knew was important. And Elijah was starting to believe Rachel's mysterious cousin was at the centre of it all.

She might even have known Klaus personally.

It didn't sit well with Elijah, having realized that.

He had no memory of the girl. Had never even heard of her until recently and even then only because she was important to his soul-mate. Elijah wondered if his own memories had been altered, to protect whatever secret Erin had been keeping. Her presence in their lives? Who was she?

Whatever it was, Rachel did not know. Of that, he was certain.

They had been as close as sisters, once, but Erin had not shared her secrets.

Elijah turned from his contemplation, embracing the soothing night air sweeping between the hard gray tombs of the city's dead. He had Erin's letter with him, folded neatly in the inside pocket of his jacket. Understanding that he was keeping it in trust, he had no intention of leaving the slip of paper anywhere where it might be found. It would stay with him. Also in his coat was the Bone Knife the Witch gave him for Rachel.

That, too, he was keeping in trust but he wasn't certain he would give it to the one it was intended for. The Witch had double-crossed him once already. He had no idea what would happen to his mortal mate he do as he had been directed and give it to her. Therefore the Knife would stay in his possession until he was sure what it was for.

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Despite Becky's best efforts, I was not going to a graveyard party wearing a designer dress and heels. We'd found one – or _**she**_ found one – that even I had to admit was lovely. If I survived until Prom, and the dress was still available, I might actually go back for it. Pearl white, it had a cinched empire waist before billowing out in soft waves and a skirt that would have come up to just above my knees. Lots of leg showing, but still classy. Just as Becky promised.

I did not recognize the designer name. I did, however, choke on my own spit when I saw the price. Two hundred dollars for something I was never going to wear again . . . hell, I was going to stay home and order a pizza.

That wasn't an option.

So when I demanded to know what Becky planned on wearing to the party, and she only just pointed at herself – to show what she was already wearing – I turned on my heels and walked straight out of the store. If Becky planned on going in jeans and a t-shirt, so would I.

Well, to be fair, not exactly. I dug through my closet and with Sean's help, found a soft purple sweater with long sleeves that would come down to cover my hands if I wanted. My best pair of skinny jeans and a pair of black, calf-high suede boots I wasn't sure my dad even knew I owned.

We rode to the party in someone's truck, Becky very deliberately riding shotgun so that Ryan and I ended up together in the backseat, with one of his friends squished in between us. The look of sheer disappointment she shot me made me laugh. I was sure she was hoping Ryan and I would end up sitting squeezed up against each other.

It was nowhere near a quiet ride. Someone switched on the truck's radio and cranked the volume so that music blared deafeningly from the front. Someone else had their iPod hooked into a portable speaker, adding chaos to the noise by having two songs playing over each other. The windows were rolled down, and the cool night wind whirled inside. Tossing my hair, tangling strands in my mouth which I spit out. People were shouting and laughing and . . . I was actually having fun.

I liked this. The noise. The activity. The energy of being with friends and classmates and people just like me – well, not exactly like me but as close as I could get.

For one night, just a couple of hours, I let go of the weight I carried. The fear and tension and the secrets I couldn't share. I could be _**me**_ again. Rachel Harding. The girl who actually had friends and went out on Friday nights to dance. To enjoy myself and just . . . to feel alive. Finding myself was a lot like being reunited with a long lost friend.

_I missed you! Where have you been?_

Of course, the party was taking place in a city of tombs and freaky stone statues. Surrounded by the dead, we were all trying to feel alive. Oh, the irony. I laughed.

Also, drinking really cheap beer from a keg. That part was more familiar than the cemetery location. Though where going out felt familiar and enjoyable for me, Becky seemed absolutely enchanted with the idea that she'd been invited to one of these; ecstatic that by being a part of Ryan's clique she was now even _**allowed**_ to be here.

And it showed.

"I'm gonna get another!" she whooped, her cheeks already flushed red. She waved her plastic cup in the air, not even waiting for me as she trotted away. Liquid spilled out, splattering the ground.

"Hey!" I shouted after her. "Finish what you have, first!"

Too late. Becky was gone.

"Silly newbie," I muttered, and tipped forward to stand on my toes so that I could look over everyone's heads. Becky was gone; having slipped through the throng so fast she was already well out of my sight but it wasn't a huge stretch to imagine I would find her in the general area of the keg.

I huffed out a breath.

"Fine," I said, speaking to myself. "Abandon me in the spooky graveyard. See if I care."

But I laughed and dropped back down, taking a sip from the red plastic cup I held. The beer tasted watery and bitter on my tongue, leaving a stiff salty flavor I couldn't place. Nobody needs refined tastes to recognize when something is seriously substandard. This stuff was awful.

"What happened to your friend?" Sean inquired, materializing right beside me.

"She got thirsty," I said.

Sean smirked, showing that he understood and I drank from my cup again. I probably needed to go find Becky. Poor kid was going to start dancing naked on a table, soon. She'd been guzzling beer like it was soda, with no real idea that she was growing steadily more intoxicated. Amateur.

Sean walked with me as I weaved through the swelling mass of people from not just my school, but also from a scattering of other schools all across the city that had congregated to celebrate the first week of October as the countdown to Halloween.

"You will not _**believe**_ how many ghosts are here," Sean said, unaware of the immediate chill his words caused in me. I glanced quickly around, but saw no other ghosts. Just very real human bodies grinding against each other as they danced. "Mostly dead witches but a few others I think might have wandered in. Like me."

I smiled and lifted my red plastic cup to my mouth to hide that I was talking. Said, "Are you leaving me, Sean?"

"No!" he said, too quickly and then laughed.

There she was. Becky was skipping all around, waving her arms over her head as she danced. I started to head over but then spotted Ryan moving through the crowd as if to cut me off. So I turned in his direction instead. Sean followed me, of course, but I swear he muttered something inappropriate.

Ryan. Tall, lean and devilishly handsome. Dressed casually in faded jeans and a shirt that bore some long-forgotten band name, he looked no different than any other guy in our class. More attractive than most but that was all. And yet there was something, some magnetic force that drew attention to him. Like you couldn't help yourself. If you looked away, your eyes would automatically slide back to take another peek.

Objectively, it was an interesting exercise. I felt no real attraction to him. No desire at all. But I was still able to appreciate the effect Ryan's magnetism had on those around him.

"What's up?" I asked, stopping in front of him.

Ryan slanted a tight smile. "Quite a bit, actually. More than I'd like."

Sean shifted. I didn't look at him, but from the corner of my eye I saw him moving uneasily.

"More than you'd like? Why, what's happening?" I sipped from my cup. Ugh. The salty tang lingered as a sharp aftertaste.

That's it. I was done. No more beer for me.

Rather than answer, Ryan shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Becky around?"

Before I could respond, Sean very sharply said, "Yeah. She is."

I blinked, confused by why Sean would talk to somebody who couldn't hear him that I almost missed the way Ryan's eyes flicked with annoyance. I frowned, my attention turned fully on the guy standing in front of me. Was he aware of the ghost?

How? I was given only a second to indulge in my confusion because Sean wasn't done and what happened next completely blew me away.

Voice shaking with tension, Sean said, "Stay away. Rye, get out of here!"

To which Ryan responded, "Believe me, I really wish I could."

As I said. Mind. Blown. Ryan could see Sean. Could hear him. Didn't even seem surprised at the ghost's presence, and the way they spoke carried the weight of familiarity. They knew each other. There was no doubt.

I floundered. There were a hundred things I could have said or done, but a combination of bewilderment, surprise and really cheap beer clashed in my system to where I just stood there.

I was the only one who froze.

Sean got right up in Ryan's face and said, "You blew it, you idiot!"

"I really think you need to leave," Ryan said, very quietly.

Sean was practically bristling. "Like hell. I won't leave her."

_Me_, I thought. Touched by that simple loyalty, despite the senselessness of the moment. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't sense any threat; like I might be in danger but . . . I really didn't understand what was happening.

To Sean, Ryan said, "I really don't think you'll want to be here for this."

"Be here for what?" I demanded.

Sean was livid. "I swear, you lay a hand on her and I'll –"

"– you'll do nothing," Ryan interrupted.

Sean stood there, looking pissed off and miserable and helpless to do anything. He was a ghost. Only just a ghost . . . a blade of grass had more power to influence the world around it than Sean did. He was only just an observer. He could watch, but not help.

"I'm sorry," Ryan added, voice softening with genuine regret. He lifted one hand, fingers flicking carelessly and just like that Sean dissolved into little silver particles. Exactly the same as what Rayzael did. Dispelling him as if he were nothing.

"No!" I gasped. Sudden anger burning in my chest. Rage forcing tears from my eyes. I turned on Ryan, and not caring that he was clearly not human and might tear me apart, I slammed both hands against his chest.

He stumbled back, but it wasn't until he grabbed my arms and spun us both into a narrow opening between two very large stone tombs that I realized he fell back on purpose so that I would follow him.

And there, away from the candlelight, and flashlights and lanterns and a million other sources brought to illuminate the party . . . Ryan's eyes changed. From their familiar hazel-green, they became a clear, striking blue. Electric blue. And they shone! Not faintly, but like they were actually lit from within. Like neon glow sticks. The color was so bright I could see it shining off his cheekbones.

"Whoa, whoa! Hush, it's okay," Ryan hastened, moving with me as I scrambled away from him. He mirrored my steps, keeping the same distance between us.

"What are you?" I demanded, managing to force quite a bit of strength into my voice. The initial shock was wearing down. I already knew about the supernatural. I didn't know about Ryan, but I did now and losing my mind wouldn't help. Stay calm . . .

"_**What**_ am I?" Ryan said with a small laugh. "A loaded question, Rachel."

"I can handle it," I said. My hands were shaking.

"I'm the fox," Ryan said, as if I should know that already. "You may have heard of me."

The fox. Wait. The fox?

_The fox in the light._ From Erin's letter. I'd read and reread that thing so often that I memorized the message within, even if I didn't understand it. But now, looking into Ryan's unnatural but gorgeous glowing blue eyes . . .

"No?" Ryan frowned dramatically. "What'd she call me then? The raven? I'm sometimes known as a raven."

I shook my head.

"I'm the _**Trickster**_, Rachel. C'mon. I know she mentioned me."

The Trickster. Of course. A fox. A raven. Mischief and cunning.

_The fox in the light . . ._ Erin knew. The whole time, she'd known and she told me about it in her letter. The _**fox**_ in the _**light**_. She was telling me that the Trickster was in plain sight!

Erin. Erin. What had she been into, to know these things? To know enough to try and warn me?

Voice trembling just a little, I asked the simplest of the questions whirling in my mind. At that moment, it was the most important. "What do you want?"

He got rid of Sean. He didn't destroy the ghost, just got rid of him for a while.

He did it to get me alone. And boy, did I ever feel all alone right now.

"Another loaded question," Ryan said, this time with just a touch of anger coloring his tone. "I'll tell you, but first I need you to answer something for me."

My heart was racing. My palms were sweating but I was holding myself together so I nodded and waited to hear what Ryan had to ask.

"Did Elijah give you the Gone Witch's gift?"

I should lie. I could have said yes, but the deception would have been stupid. I couldn't lie without knowing what the hell it was I was saying so I hedged, "What gift?"

"The Knife, Rachel," Ryan said, and grabbed my arms with iron-strong fingers. I gasped, but he just shook me. "Do you have the Bone Knife? Elijah was supposed to give it to you."

"I don't have any knife," I told him. I'd seen Elijah that afternoon but he didn't give me anything.

Ryan swore. Releasing me, he raked his fingers through his hair in irritation. To himself, he said, "Just once, couldn't Elijah just do what he was told?"

"W-what?"

I could run, I thought numbly. No. Dammit! I didn't know what to do. I had no idea what sort of power this Trickster-creature had.

"The Witch is playing some game," Ryan muttered. To me he said, "She gave Elijah the Knife to gift to you, knowing that he wouldn't. Not hard to guess why he refused. Master Vampire thinks the Witch was trying to use him in some plot to harm his precious mate." Ryan sneered. "The Bone Knife is a white-charmed object. You would _**think**_ a thousand year old vamp would be able to tell the difference between a cursed object and a charmed one."

I looked at my hands, empty, and thought of this Knife. Couldn't picture it because I didn't know what it looked like. But I considered the Knife and felt its absence like a slap. I believed him. Ryan. I believed him . . . and that confused me most of all.

"A charmed knife," I said. "Spelled for good?"

"Not good, necessarily," Ryan said with a smirk. "Just not cursed. The Knife was supposed to help you."

"How?"

Silence. Ryan tilted his head a little, looking at me. Watching me with those bright, bright eyes and I swallowed. My heart skipped.

"One of the most powerful creatures in the world is a Trickster," he told me. "I could crush your Original with a thought, if I wanted. But I don't. I mean no harm. Not to you or to him." He waved a hand, encompassing the world around us. "I don't mean to hurt anyone."

Good to know . . .

"But see, the Witch intended the Knife for you because she knew that it was the only thing that could have stopped me. All you would have had to do was hold it up! Just hold the Knife between us, and I could not have come near you. You would have been safe."

Another heavy silence. I didn't know what to say. Ryan seemed to pause to give me the chance to respond if I wanted. I screwed up by quickly looking past him, trying to measure my chances if I tried to run. Of course, Ryan saw my glance and shook his head. "Don't try it. I've been ordered to do anything it takes to stop you."

My mind latched onto the one important word in that. "Ordered by who?"

"The Bone Witch," he said. And then he snarled. Static crackled, charging the air around him. "There is nothing my kind hate more than chains, Rachel. Sorry little spellcaster thinks she owns me. She's reached too far. Grown too comfortable in her arrogance. I owe her _**one**_ favor, Rachel. Just one favor, where I must do whatever is commanded of me and then I will be free . . ."

Free.

Oh. I shut my eyes, imagining what would happen once a pissed off Trickster was released. The Bone Witch was in for a surprise, if the vehemence and the absolute confidence in Ryan's voice was any indication.

Ryan sighed softly. I felt him move closer to me, and trembled. The feel of static and charged particles in the air stinging my skin was almost painful. I twitched away from it, and him, but there was nowhere to go. I'd been backed up against the solid stone wall of a tomb.

"Trickster is so misleading, isn't it?" Ryan said, and I felt him pass his thumb over my cheek. I flinched away, eyes springing open to glare. Nodding, Ryan let his hand drop. "Not everything was a lie, Rachel. We _**are**_ friends. Believe that. I do consider you my friend . . ."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, just as softly. "What did the Witch order you to do?"

Nothing. Ryan's eyes, electric-blue and glowing like neon dimmed. They flickered with regret.

"You're going to hurt me, aren't you?"

No lie. Ryan said, "Yes. But not badly. Take a breath, Rachel."

I winced as his hand shot up. I thought he was going to slap me, but he didn't. Instead, Ryan lay his hand on my cheek. Very softly. Gently cupping my face and I felt a charge, an electrical current pass from him into me. My whole body hummed for a moment, and then stiffened as every nerve fired at once.

Power thrummed through me. Electrical. The scent of static and lightning filled my head. I could taste it in my mouth. So, so much electricity coursing through my body that it should have thrown off my pulse. Stopped it but it didn't. Ryan controlled the current. I would not be killed.

I was being electrocuted . . .

Leaning forward, he snarled and said, "Just this once, Rachel, I will do as I've been commanded. But trust that once I'm free, I will seek vengeance. For the both of us."

* * *

**Erin's Letter to Rachel:**

Needed in New Orleans. Secrets and lies. Be careful.

Fire mirror. Fox in the light. Wolf key. Jewel in the river.

Save me, Rachel. Forgive me.

Erin


	38. Chapter 37 - A Test, or is this a Game?

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 37**

**A TEST, OR IS THIS A GAME?**

* * *

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road,

and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

– **Bilbo Baggins**

_Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring_

J. R. R. Tolkein, author

* * *

_**POV – Elijah – ONE HOUR **_**BEFORE**_** THE GRAVEYARD PARTY**_

The stately three-story white house that rose before Elijah had once belonged to his family. When the Originals first came to these shores in the early seventeen hundreds, New Orleans had been nothing but dirt tracks and a scattering of rough-built homes. But civilization had not left the grimy little French outpost alone and Elijah had been present – and involved – in so much of the city's history.

This large white house was the first piece of property "owned" by his family, though of course vampires cannot actually own property at all. It was still theirs.

By the mid-eighteen hundreds, the Originals left this house in favor of moving into the now-bustling city directly. And they never returned.

It was a shame for the house was the first place Elijah had dared to call a home in centuries. It was the first place where he felt as if he could stop awhile and rest, knowing that the Destroyer who hunted his family ruthlessly across Europe was far away. There was no real peace, as the witch and werewolf communities both distrusted and despised the vampires in their midst but for the first time in so, so long he and his siblings had been allowed to stop fleeing. To surround themselves with walls and become a part of the world around them once more.

To feel alive.

Now, nearly three hundred years later he was back.

Elijah wasn't entirely certain what had drawn him here tonight, other than that the urge had just taken him. His siblings were occupied with their own affairs, and Rachel had plans. He was left to himself for a while and though he could have done anything he wanted with this time he chose to revisit a few familiar locations from his past.

He stood on the lawn, dark gaze scanning the familiar front face of the large white house. He felt _**no**_ nostalgia at the sight of it. He expected that he would, but the emotion was notably absent. This house did not have the same air as he remembered. The feel of it had changed and it was not that the house had been modernized over the centuries. There were light bulbs, now, in place of lanterns. Vinyl siding instead of painted wood, though they had kept the white color. He could see a television through one of the windows, where before there had been none. Of course not.

That wasn't it.

It was not the changes to his old home that unsettled him, but something else. Really, it was the feel of the night around Elijah. The way the gentle breeze teased in his hair, sliding seductively over the exposed skin of his neck and face with the softness of a satiny breath. The rustling of leaves in the trees at the end of the yard, and further out. There were none of the noises anyone would associate with the night in the country. Certainly none of the Louisiana sounds of croaking frogs, the chuffing of alligators or the call of night birds as there should have been this close to the bayou wilderness.

It was the silence . . . the night was quiet.

Elijah drew back, melting into the darkness with the ease of long practice. He sent his senses seeking, immediately becoming aware of the absence of noise within the house itself. No heartbeat. No hiss of breathing. The television in the first floor window was on, he could see the flickering blue glow but there was no one home.

"Elijah . . ."

A voice from behind.

He spun, feeling his fangs lengthening out of startled surprise. Elijah had not been aware of anyone approaching and the voice had whispered nearly in his ear.

There was no one there.

He narrowed his eyes, spooked but confident in his immortality. Whatever harm was done to him, he would recover and there would be hell to pay. Elijah did feel threatened, however. This was no small thing. He felt hunted and it was not a sensation he particularly enjoyed. Without thinking, he touched Rachel's mind only to assure himself that his mate was not similarly distressed and felt only irritated giddiness from her. She was alright and through their soul-bond he knew that she was at the cemetery party. With her friends. Exactly as she told him she would be.

Elijah dropped the link to better focus on what was happening around himself, and again heart that same voice. Light, amused laughter ringing clearly from his left. "Over here!"

He did not turn as directed, but instead spun to the right.

A flicker of motion darted out of sight. Unimpressed, Elijah followed. A burst of vampire speed and he was across the yard in a blink. He paused again, listening fiercely for where the creature had gone. The wind gusted strongly, and then shifted. The breeze turning and with it a new scent the air. Static. Lightning.

Momentarily uncertain as to the cause, Elijah mistakenly turned his eyes up to scan the star-speckled sky for rain . . .

_WHAM!_

The bolt hit him with the force of a small detonation. Elijah stumbled back, striking the side of the house with a muffled _whoomph_! Knocked nearly senseless, completely blindsided by the attack Elijah was not prepared for the suddenness of what came next. Even his own incredible vampire speed not enough to catch the whip of electrical light as it drove into his chest, lifted him bodily up into the air and slung him clear across the yard.

CRUNCH-_whoomph!_

Bones broke against the solid trunk of an immense tree. Elijah slid dizzily to the ground, reeling from the speed of the assault. His body itched horribly as his bones kitted back together. In seconds, he was restored and furious. All at once, Elijah remembered the last time he'd encountered this particular electrical smell. He remembered The Trickster and the metallic scent of static that permeated the very atmosphere around the creature as it powered itself.

"Stay down," a cool voice came to him.

Elijah lifted his head to see a slender, well-toned boy striding towards him. Oak colored hair deliberately styled, wearing blue jeans and a casual t-shirt and sneakers. He appeared to be only just a human but the brilliantly blue glow of his eyes betrayed his nature. The smell of static and lightning thickened with his approach to where it was nearly painful to breath in that charged air. The Trickster had only ever appeared to Elijah by mimicking Rachel's shape before now. Seeing his soul-mate's face without the warmth of their bond had shaken him deeply each time.

Elijah wondered why the Trickster had chosen to abandon that tactic, now.

The boy halted in his forward approach and tilted his head. Glowing eyes flaring brighter for a moment, like the pulsing of distant stars. Elijah climbed to his feet, facing the creature. There was no fear in the Trickster. No hesitant caution. The Trickster knew that Elijah could do no harm, and so it only watched the Original vampire. Calmly. Waiting.

"I told you to stay down," the Trickster said.

Elijah only just managed to keep from baring his fangs at the creature in blatant challenge and said, "Why are you here?"

"Better question is: why are _**you**_ here? You haven't thought of this place in ages." The Trickster tilted its head to indicate the large white house behind itself. A breeze gusted noisily through the trees, tossing the canopy with a roar of rustling leaves. "I summoned you here, Master Vamp. Seemed easier than chasing you all around the city to have you come to me."

A trap. Of course. A snare.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, sharp gaze cutting through the darkness as if it was clearest day. The Trickster was so near to him that even had he been human, he would have favored his chances. To attack the creature, now, while it was comfortable in its easy victory over the Original vampire. However Elijah was no fool and remained conscious of the Trickster's whiplash speed. Not once in a thousand years had Elijah ever faced anything so _**quick**_ that his vampire eyes couldn't track it.

"I'll say this," the Trickster added. "I am not your enemy. Consider yourself fortunate there, Elijah. This could have ended far worse."

Ended . . .

A blur of speed. The crunch and crackle of bone shattering under a tremendous force and then the rich scent of blood filling the night. Elijah gasped, his breath sawing harshly in his throat. He felt the burst of white pain as his chest caved into itself, the immediate cool rush of weakness but worst was the shock of disbelief as the Trickster drove its fist into Elijah's chest. It gripped the vampire's heart in hooked fingers and ripped the organ from his body . . .

Elijah dropped, senselessly dead to the grass. It was over so fast, Rachel would have had no idea . . . she felt nothing, no warning from over their bond and that is what the Trickster had intended.

Ryan Blake knelt by the Original vampire, gazing pityingly at the crumpled body. Elijah would heal and then wake in a while. As close to a true immortal as it was possible to be, the removal of his heart would only drop him for a time and there were things that still needed to be done before the vampire revived.

Pulling several fragrant purple blossoms from his pants pockets, Ryan did exactly as the Bone Witch commanded him to do. And then it was time to go find the mate . . .

* * *

_**POV – Rachel – FOUR HOURS **_**AFTER**_** THE GRAVEYARD PARTY**_

_P-plop. P-plop. P-plop._

I woke slowly, dizzily. It did take a while for my senses to return and it was like being stuck in a fog. I moved, my mind churning as it struggled back towards consciousness but I was confused. Slow. Even sluggish in my efforts to pull myself out of that murk. My first awareness came with the slight pinging of water. A noise I recognized as a leaky faucet, dripping into a metal basin. Like a kitchen sink. I swallowed hard, feeling my stiff throat cramp. I was thirsty. My mouth feeling gummy. Coughing a little, I turned my head and felt my face scrape on cool tiles.

My eyes fell open.

I wasn't scared. Still too out of it to feel alarmed.

Instead, I hovered for a second gazing blearily down at the stained floor beneath me. Yeah. I was lying on the floor.

"Get up, Rachel," said a familiar voice. Disembodied in the unlit room, it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I was weak and not quite conscious, yet. It took me too long to register it was only just an echo. The voice . . . echoed.

I swallowed again, throat so dry that it pinched and I winced. A slow, steady ache beat in the space between my eyes and I could feel my heart beating in my head. My whole body felt battered and bruised like I'd been beaten while unconscious. I didn't think I had been but . . . I ached. My muscles were sore and heat rippled up and down the centre of my back.

Again, the voice. "Rachel, get up. You're fine."

Fine? Hell. I was in pain!

"Ryan," I ground out between clenched teeth. "When I get my hands on you . . ."

"Yeah, I know," he said, laughing. "You'll grind me into little pieces and feed me to the hogs."

Not the threat I was about to offer, but it wasn't a bad idea. Feed him to the pigs. I liked it.

Slowly, hesitantly, testing my balance and my body's ability to support its own weight I lifted myself up off the floor. An awful whirl of dizziness nearly dropped me but I held still until it passed and then stood up.

_Echoes,_ I thought. Our voices were echoing because the kitchen was empty. There was the counter and cupboards and a sink, but no furniture. A silent refrigerator. No stove. The house was empty. Clean, though, so I figured it was no abandoned just unoccupied. Something up for sale. There were windows over the sink, but only darkness outside. No artificial lights shining in, or even a glow against the sky. We weren't in the city anymore.

I glanced across to where Ryan was sitting on the kitchen counter; legs crossed like the two of us were only just hanging out. To my immense relief, his eyes were dark. Back to their human hazel-green rather than the neon blue glowing so brightly they could have lit the room. He was still dressed in jeans and the t-shirt with a faded band logo on the front. Exactly what he was wearing at the party, when he revealed himself to be a fox, a raven . . . a Trickster.

"I mean no harm, Rachel," Ryan assured me.

Without thinking, I snapped at him. "You electrocuted me!"

Ryan just shrugged. "You're fine. I told you I wouldn't harm you badly."

"Where are we?" I demanded. What was done was done. There was no point lingering on it; Ryan was right. I was okay.

Rather than answer, Ryan tossed a sheet on the floor at my feet. Giving him a suspicious look, I knelt down and picked it up. Stood, looking at the weathered white sheet. The back of a photograph. I flipped it over and my breath caught in my throat. Not a photograph. Older. From before the invention of film, it was a small portrait. Painted, about the size of a book cover.

I recognized the people in the portrait.

The Original family. Rebekah in a soft pink gown, sitting in a chair with her hands folded neatly on her lap. Her brothers flanked her. Klaus wore red, a deep burgundy jacket and a snowy white cravat and a devil-may-care smirk. But it was Elijah who drew my eye. He was in blue. The deepest, darkest shade of sapphire. His hair was a little longer than it was now. There was an intensity in his gaze that spoke to me. He looked very calm. Very controlled but I could almost swear I could feel his restlessness passing into me from the portrait. As if what he was feeling back then was caught in the paint.

"It was made in 1801," Ryan told me, very quietly. "Only months before the Original family left this house in favor of moving into the city."

"This is Elijah's old home?" I tore my gaze from the painting and looked across at Ryan, still seated on the counter. "Why did you take me here?"

"Wasn't my idea," Ryan said. "Bone Witch has a weird sense of humor. Your mate and his family lived here for nearly a century. It was the first place any of them called home in . . . quite a while. They were comfortable here. They were happy, for a time."

They were happy here. Elijah was happy here . . . in the eighteen hundreds. I knew he was a vampire. I knew he was immortal. But I still felt a small thrill just thinking about it. Hundreds of years ago, Elijah lived here with his siblings.

I reached for him with my mind, following the glowing ribbon of power and light that was our soul-bond and froze. Elijah was _**here**_.

Ryan smirked. "D'you just find him?"

"What did you do?" I demanded.

Ryan whistled and nodded. "You're further along than I thought. You can sense him? Like, you can actually follow this back to him?"

"Duh," I muttered. I'd been able to do that almost from the first. Ryan made it sound like some sort of accomplishment. I looked quickly around the empty kitchen again. Spotted a narrow door I thought might lead to a pantry. A doorway that seemed to connect to a hall, instead of one room opening into another like in most homes nowadays. If I needed to run, that would be the way to go but the problem with corridors is that they were very easy to get boxed in while trying to escape.

Whatever. Even if I didn't suddenly find myself in a dire need to run away, to leave I would have to go that way. Because the window over the sink was tiny. I could crawl through it if I really had to but that was stupid.

"Okay, so you want to know what's going on," Ryan said brightly, clapping his hands like an overly enthusiastic camp director. "This is it. Elijah is in this house. You're job was to find him, but fortunately you've already mastered that particular soul-mate trick. Now, the problem is he's been . . . incapacitated. Big bad Master Vampire is in quite a bit of pain, actually, which should serve as motivation for you to get to him quickly."

Elijah _**was**_ in pain. I'd been feeling it, faintly, like a shimmer of heat at the back of my mind but now that Ryan brought my attention to it I realized it was pretty bad. My stomach churned in empathic agony and my heart turned over. Elijah was so, so strong. Fearless. Powerful. Like a force of nature. Feeling his pain hurt me on some deeper, emotional level. It wasn't right.

Ryan kept talking. "All that's left for you to do, since you already know how to find him through the bond is to talk to him. Elijah knows how to fix what I did to him."

I closed my eyes, shook just a bit and then turned to Ryan. "Why . . . Ryan. Just . . . why are you doing this?"

A faint sheen of electric blue flickered in his gaze. It was so swift, I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking right at him but it was there. Like bolts of lightning crackling in his eyes. He smiled for me, but his former teasing was gone. There was a tightness to his jaw. "Everything I've done here tonight, I did because I was commanded to do it. The Bone Witch is holding me in servitude but, as I told you before, I only owe her _**once**_. When this is done, I'll be free."

Again, I looked towards the doorway leading into the hall. This was a big house.

"Believe it or not, Rachel, she's trying to help in her own twisted little way," Ryan said, adding it like it was something that needed to be explained but he only just remembered it himself. "She's trying to train the two of you to use your abilities. The soul-mate bond isn't really something that can be taught so you have to figure it out for yourselves. It would have happened on its own, naturally, with time but something huge is coming and you both will need these skills."

"There's no time to figure it out," I summarized. "So she's forcing it?"

Ryan nodded.

I took a deep breath. "We can talk to each other. With our minds? Actually talking, not just reading what each other is thinking now and again by mistake."

Another nod. "Right."

"How?"

"I don't know," Ryan said. "I'd tell you, if I did. Believe me, Rachel; I want you to get this right. I want you to succeed."

Yeah. "What happens if I don't?"

Offering me a slow, sad smile Ryan flickered and vanished with a small like static and lightning. My heart gave a single hard thud of trepidation. Find Elijah. This I could do and very, very easily too. I knew exactly where he was. Turning my gaze down towards the floor, I shook my head. The basement.

Wonderful.

* * *

It took an embarrassingly long time to locate the door to the cellar.

I wandered around the entire first floor searching for it. What I found was that I had a mild fear of the dark. Fascinating, because I really hadn't known it was there. I was jumping at shadows, and at first assumed my edginess was because of the quiet or just that I had a Trickster who could very well still be buzzing around looking to scare me. But nope. That wasn't it.

I was genuinely afraid of the dark.

Not very much. It could be ignored. But it was there.

After my third pass through the living room with a TV that was inexplicably switched on, showing only a glowing screen of unbroken static, I found a door. One that had to lead down to the basement. It was located on the wall beneath the stairs, and it was locked so I figured it probably wasn't a washroom.

Locked. Goddamit.

I jiggled the doorknob. Nothing. I stood back a second, looked up and down at the nondescript wooden door and then slammed my whole body up against it. Pain shot from my shoulder down to my fingertips to where I yelped and grabbed my arm, needing to massage the hurt out of it.

Well, that didn't work.

_Snick!_

I froze. Held my breath.

_Creeeeeeekkkkkk._

Oh, no. No.

Nonononono.

"Ryan?" I whispered. No response.

Heart beating like a jackhammer in my chest; I slowly reached for the doorknob and pulled the door fully open. Every long, harsh second of those rusty hinges creaking snapped at my nerves to where I would have been happier if something actually jumped out at me. The tension in the following silence was brittle. Like glass, where anything at all could have shattered it.

Darkness.

Darkness down below. I could see the first four dusty steps leading down into the basement but nothing beyond that. It was too dark. Pitch black.

Crap. Oh, man. No.

What a time to discover I had a lingering fear of the dark. I held my breath, straining to listen for any whisper of sound. But again, nothing. No noise. No motion. Not even a sense of something moving around.

This was stupid.

Frustrated and scared, knowing I had to go down there but desperately wishing I didn't . . . I paced. Elijah's pain beat at my mind, taunting me. Dumb. This was dumb. I moved away from the basement, taking a few steps into the living room. The light from the TV hurt my eyes. My own shadow climbed menacingly up the wall to slant sideways on the ceiling. Ugh. Turning, I stepped carefully back towards the black opening into the damned cellar.

Okay. I could do this.

I lay my hand on the banister, feeling it wobble a little and placed my foot on the first step down. Froze. Listened.

Nothing. No attack. No noise.

No stupid jumpscare like in the movies.

Okay. I started breathing again and went down the stairs. Not hesitating or looking back, afraid that if I did I'd lose my nerve and race back up. I nearly tripped when I reached the last step and realized I was now on cold, hard-packed dirt.

The cellar reeked of soil and damp. Water damage left untreated for years. Mostly rotten wood. But also a dustiness I thought might have been mold.

I couldn't see anything. Nothing at all. I waited for my eyes to adjust but they didn't. Everything all around me was black on black. Ink. Colorless. Formless.

"Elijah?" I whispered hoarsely, my throat contracting with fear.

Something moved.

A low, soft slither. Snake? Was there snakes down here?

Closing my eyes, I focused on the soul-bond and it was like the basement erupted with light. My eyes were still closed, but I found that with Elijah so near the darkness was a little thing. I did know exactly where he was. And, somehow, I knew that there was nothing between us. No wall, certainly, but even something as small as a chair or a box.

It was a clear path straight to him.

Weak with relief, I started towards him when I heard the sound again.

Slithering. Soft, furtive movement. The cool rasp of breathing that was not mine.

We weren't alone.


	39. Chapter 38 - Raise the Dead

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM:**_ Hi, all! :) So sorry for the long – very long – pause between updates. I've been so busy with real-world stuff that being able to post this update feels amazing. A lot like coming home, actually. I've missed this! _

_But even though I've been occupied, I certainly didn't forget about this fic and whenever I had a few minutes to myself I would take advantage to write a little. I've really been looking forward to getting this chapter posted and I know a lot of you have been waiting. Again, I'm so sorry for the very long pause._

_Personally, I think this chapter turned out great, considering I wrote it only a few sentences at a time. LOL_

_I would also like to take the opportunity to offer a shout-out to _GingerGeekGal_. So enthusiastic! Your reviews always make me smile. :) And to _Zee_. Because you review as a "guest", I haven't been able to send you PMs to personally thank you for reviewing. But you popped up out of nowhere and made me laugh right off. So glad you're enjoying this story! Hope this chapter lives up to expectation. And to _Poppies and Cornflowers_ . . . also new on my review list. :D Thank you all so, so much for reviewing. It means a lot that people would take the time, and that so many of you seem to be really enjoying this story._

_All my best,_

_DayStorm_

**Chapter 38**

**RAISE THE DEAD**

* * *

"There comes a point when you either embrace who and what you are, or condemn yourself to be

miserable all your days. Other people will try to make you miserable; don't help them by doing the job

yourself."

– **Laurel K. Hamilton**

* * *

**POV – Elijah**

Elijah woke to darkness and pain.

Fire seared his skin, like flames lashing his flesh in hungry demand.

He recognized the burning. The sensation was one he had felt before, and it wasn't fire. It was **vervain**. The little purple petals with the power to scald a vampire's skin. To thwart compulsion. To poison him, if ingested. And he was lying on a bed of it. He could feel those little petals pressing into his skin. The slight sponginess of being on a bed several inches deep. He thought there might have been some scattered over him as well, but he couldn't be sure.

Memory surfaced.

The Trickster had torn Elijah's heart from his body and left him temporarily dead. Elijah healed, as he knew he would. His heart re-growing to replace what was lost. The Trickster had to have known that would happen. Actually, Elijah was sure of it. But the creature hadn't cared. Because it hadn't wanted to kill him, only to halt him for a little while.

In that while, Elijah had been moved. He couldn't smell the nighttime air, or hear the rustling canopy of leaves overhead as before. This place was dank and damp. The air motionless around him. No wind. He was indoors.

He was not alone.

Ignoring the scalding pain from the copious amount of vervain cradling his body, Elijah opened himself to the soul-bond. Rachel. He felt her immediately.

She was very, very near.

As close as she was, he could sense her emotions clearly and the primary seemed to be outrage, followed closely by indignation. That caused a flicker of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. His spirited little mortal. Courage and humor. He would have expected nothing less. Elijah did notice that she felt only the faintest undercurrent of fear, and that fear was tightly leashed. Rachel did seem very much in control of herself. Whatever might have been happening to her, she didn't consider herself particularly threatened.

Rachel . . . Elijah trusted her judgment. Her good sense.

She would know if she were in danger.

Puzzled by her nearness, but satisfied that she was unharmed Elijah turned his attention to the other presence he could sense hovering so close. The one that was in the room the room with him.

"Soul-mates are fascinating," the Trickster remarked, it's voice echoing hollowly around them. "You both regained consciousness almost to the second of each other. For real. You couldn't have timed it better if it was done on purpose."

Elijah gritted his teeth.

The creature chuckled. "Feeling a little slow tonight, Elijah? Don't worry. The paralysis will wear off on its own. Little safety I built into my spell, in case I forget to remove it myself. So that you don't just lie there forever . . . that'd be unfortunate. Being immortal and all, you actually **can** lie there forever."

That wasn't funny.

Elijah didn't know very much about these creatures – the Tricksters – and if he were honest he would say that he'd had a better understanding of soul-mates prior to discovering he even had one than the whole of what he knew of Tricksters. But that's not to say he was clueless as to what these creatures were capable of. One thing he knew for sure is that though some were wholly evil – evil to where they were sometimes mistaken for demons – a great many were not.

As far as he could tell, this one was not.

Granted, it had torn Elijah's heart straight from his chest but it also knew that wouldn't kill him. And the way it had spoken to him before, when it cornered him in the yard of the large white house had been mild enough. The creature hadn't seemed particularly interested in harming him at all. It was . . . possible . . . to capture a Trickster. To bind it, offering it freedom in exchange for servitude. A single favor owed to the owner.

All at once, Elijah understood.

The Trickster would be furious. Chomping at the bit in desperation, needing its stolen freedom as desperately as one would need air to breathe. This – all of this – was being done on behalf of the one who'd captured him. And once this favor was done, the Trickster would turn on the person who'd thought to control him with a passionate fury. There would be hell to pay . . . but not for Elijah. And not for Rachel. They were not responsible for the creature's temporary enslavement.

Suddenly, the Trickster's words before made sense.

'I am not your enemy. Consider yourself fortunate there, Elijah. This could have ended far worse.'

This – all of this – was orchestrated by another.

"Alright," the suddenness of the Trickster's voice startled Elijah, after the length of silence following its last remark. "Your mate is on her way. Now, I'm going to tell you what you need to do and for once in your life Master Vamp . . . do what you're told."

Elijah's head was ringing. He scarcely heard the words being spoken to him, finding that his attention had wandered. He could clearly hear the strong, steady pulse of Rachel's heart above him. She was in the house, her light footfalls hesitant as she stepped through the rooms. Searching, he realized. She knew where he was. She was only searching for a way down to him. And his own need to go to her was so powerful that he found the enchantment placed on him intolerable. It was maddening, being unable to move. To just get up and go to his mate, because it felt very much as if she were calling to him.

Whispering almost in his ear, the Trickster said, "All you need to do is to get Rachel to release you from my spell. It's easy enough. She won't have any trouble, but oh, if only she knew what to do! She has no idea. But I'll tell **you**, Elijah. That's your test. I'll tell you what needs to happen. All you need to do from there is tell **her**."

Wonderful. Elijah could scarcely move to open his own eyes. How was he going to form the words necessary to explain anything? And the blasted vervain continued to scald and sear his skin, the pain flaring then fading as his body continued to heal itself. Burning and immediately repairing the damage.

The Trickster sighed, sounding distinctly annoyed.

"The soul-bond, idiot. Use the soul-bond to talk to her. How the hell have you two **not** figured this out yourselves, yet? Far as I can tell, you've mastered everything else."

Idiot?

"Alright," the Trickster went on "now, listen carefully. To break the chains, all Rachel needs to do is -"

* * *

**POV – Rachel**

"Elijah?" I whispered hoarsely, my throat contracting with fear.

It was so, so quiet that my breaths sounded harsh and hard in the dark. Each breath so unfamiliar to my own ears that for a second my heart stopped because I thought I was hearing someone else. Terrifying, but no. It was just me.

I strained my senses, struggling to listen for those **other** noises. The ones that were definitely not me. The slow, heavy slithering scrape against the ground followed by a whistling hiss that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. In the absolute blackout-dark of the cellar, I could **feel** something moving around. The air displacing around a solid body. And those sounds were creeping me out because they were alive. Not accidental sounds like air escaping or the rattle of pipes. They were definitely something down here with me.

And then there was the smell.

Bewildering, because it didn't belong in a dank basement. A flowery scent. Roses? No, not exactly. A sweet must that was only just masking something foul. Decay. Something putrid and cloying so that it distracted me, and I thought maybe a whole nest of rats must have died down here. Death was not a scent I was particularly familiar with but it was hard to miss. Hard to mistake it for anything else.

I realized I was shaking.

"Elijah," I whispered again. My heart thudding like a drumbeat in my chest. I could sense that he was awake, and perfectly aware of me. Through our bond, I could feel his focus. His fixed attention. Why didn't he say anything?

From the pitch black, two shining blue lights moved. I stumbled, startled by their sudden appearance. The light so bright it hurt my eyes to look right at them.

Ryan. Blue eyes shining like stars. It had to be him.

"You're brave to come down here, Rachel," he said softly. "Are you ready for what comes next?"

The Trickster, I thought. Ryan claimed that the term was misleading, that not everything he said to me was a trick but I had to be careful. I wasn't sure I could believe anything he said. Up to and including his assurance that he meant no harm.

I drew a quick breath for courage and said, "Enough games, Ryan. Give me Elijah."

Low laughter. "You want him? Take him."

Blue lights blinked out. Ryan was gone. Or so it seemed. I wasn't ready to believe **that**, either. I actually took a step towards where Elijah lay on the floor before it occurred to me. Was this a trap? I looked around but of course couldn't see anything through the inky darkness. The noise came again. A slow, deliberate scraping sound. Like shoes scuffing on the ground.

All at once and completely without warning, Elijah broke into my mind. Our soul-bond flared brightly, erupting with invisible light that no one else could see but that momentarily blinded me. He moved quickly, driving deeper to where we both felt it as he collided with a wall inside my mind. His ancient, numbingly-powerful presence filled my head with noise and pressure so that an ache started pinching behind my eyes. A small tension headache.

I struggled to concentrate, finding it hard now to tell the difference between the noises in my head and the sounds that were getting closer. Something was moving. Walking towards me. Footsteps? Dread hardened in my chest and I think I might have been breathing hard but I really . . . couldn't . . . focus.

Elijah shoved, breaking through the invisible barrier and a needle of pain shot straight through my brain. Right down the middle, like someone had pressed a sewing needle through my forehead and out the back of my skull.

Elijah, stop! I gasped, not saying a word. I don't know why I only thought it, or what made me think that he would understand but he did. Our psychic link flickered for a second as he dropped back.

A hot, heavy hand landed on my shoulder, scaring the crap out of me. But when the sharp fingers dug into my shoulder, curving down and around as if they were trying to dig in under the bone my fear sharpened with immediate realization. The small of charcoal and lighter fluid and burnt stone wafted from him. I was forcibly spun around, stumbling from the speed of it and came face-to-face with the creature that haunted my nightmares.

Rayzael.

"Did you really think you could get away?" the demon hissed through jagged, triangular fangs. He dug his fingers in even more, forcing a short moan of pain from my throat. I hadn't meant to give him even that, but I couldn't help myself. My insides had gone liquid, in anticipation of what was about to happen to me. "You knew I would come for you, and there would be hell to pay . . ."

Despair swelled like sickness inside of me. The memory of our last encounter seared into my brain. Rayzael plunging a kitchen knife into my chest. The terror of seeing with my own eyes that blade driven deep, deep into my body. The hard, heavy pressure as the knife cut through bone. A hot rush of blood and the instantaneous cold weakness where it was like my entire body just have out. Knees collapsed. Eyes falling closed. But my mind kept working. I didn't just blink out of consciousness to die without knowing it. No, nothing so easy.

I stayed awake. Too weak to move, lying in a widening pool of blood but I had still been thinking. Still, somehow, aware of what was happening to me.

Rayzael let me go that day. He could have finished me but he hadn't.

Elijah saved me.

But the trauma of the event surfaced unmercifully. Helplessly reliving the terror of knowing I was going to die. Now here he was again. The demon called Rayzael. Spitting mad and there was nowhere for me to go. And this time, there would be no one to save me.

How was this allowed to happen? I wailed silently. Had Ryan set me up?

He was . . . we were friends. He'd told me, after revealing himself as the Trickster, that not everything was a lie and that he really did think of me as his friend. But then, it was also possible that this was his final trick. The cruelty of shattering that little bit of trust I still had for him. Had Ryan really lied, and delivered me straight into the demon's waiting arms?

No. No! I couldn't . . . he wouldn't . . .

Rayzael closed one strong hand around my jaw and pulled me closer. The horrible, cloying stench of burning wafted around us catching in my throat. Hot and sharp and choking me. I couldn't breathe that air. Spots flashed across my vision and, dimly, I heard another voice. Calling my name, very calmly, and saying something but I didn't have the strength to focus on that. I met Rayzael's smoldering white-hot gaze and braced myself for what came next.

But he didn't hurt me. Not yet.

"Poor little light, come to save your mate. To what end? How can you not see, the greatest threat to you is him. Elijah will be the death of you and you don't even know." The demon hissed, the sound like the crackling of flames. "He'll kill you himself, and it will be a glorious betrayal."

Terror snapped with my temper and I slammed both hands against Rayzael's solid chest. My meager human strength doing absolutely nothing. He sneered, curling a lip to show off those awful shark-teeth and then shoved me. He didn't shove very hard, but the force of his demonic strength was so great that it sent me reeling. I stumbled and would have fallen if it wasn't for the wall. I smacked into it, bruising both my hip and my shoulder on the hard concrete.

A beat of silence followed.

"What are you waiting for?" I ground out through clenched teeth. "Why won't you just kill me already?"

"A quick death?" Rayzael mocked. "What fun is there in ending your suffering? You'll die. Eventually. Whether by my hand of your mates'. I would much rather it be by his . . . can you imagine?"

Rayzael seemed to almost be wiggling with joyous anticipation. I narrowed my eyes, not understanding what the demon was trying to say. Maybe I just didn't want to understand, but Rayzael wasn't done. He'd seen that he finally struck a nerve in me. I was wavering, my fear turning with my distraction. He allowed a harsh laugh and said, "What did you think was going to happen to you? Poor little human, with an Original for a soul-mate. Caged by circumstance. You're future is set, little light. Elijah cannot allow you to live."

I held still, braced on the cellar wall. Hardly daring to breathe but this time, I wasn't frozen. I was waiting. Meeting Rayzael's burning eyes from across a too-short distance. White, brilliantly hot eyes surrounded by the pitch darkness they were like looking straight into the heart of the sun. Rayzael wasn't moving to finish me off and I was growing surer that he wouldn't. So maybe, just maybe, I still had a chance. To fight? No, I could never overpower him. But I might still survive this.

A very interesting thing happened, then. As I calmed down I gradually began to realize that Elijah had been sitting in my mind. Very still, very quiet. Paying attention to everything, but really only waiting for me to notice him. And once I did, the very second I turned my attention on him I heard his voice. Clear as anything spoke out loud, though there was no sound made at all. Nothing for my ears to do. I heard him: _This is not real, Rachel. You need only ignore the illusion_.

Illusion. Oh my god. Of course.

Because Ryan was a Trickster. And I'd been effectively tricked. Hadn't I wondered that exact thing, just a minute ago? I'd expected some sort of trap and I completely missed it when it was sprung on me.

Interesting to find that I didn't doubt Elijah at all. My jaw ached and my shoulders hurt where the demon-illusion had grabbed me but I was certain Elijah was right.

It was a little harder to convince my senses that there was nothing there, though. I could feel Rayzael. Smell him. **See** him. But now that I was calmer and actually paying attention I realized that I shouldn't have been able to see Rayzael at all in the pitch black. And yet I could. I could see him clearly. Because I was meant to.

So I pushed myself off the wall and, without even looking at the demon who wasn't really there, I slipped my phone from my pocket. Tapped the screen to turn it on, and the bright LCD illuminated the basement in a bluish glow. Rayzael, I noticed, cast no shadow.

The demon hissed softly but made no move to stop me as I stepped past him, heading to where Elijah lay on the floor. The smell of those purple flower petals churned in my stomach. Strange, because the fragrance wasn't so bad. Like roses, they smelled faintly sweet with a harder must that was actually very pleasant. I knelt on the floor beside Elijah and lifted my phone higher so that I could see him more clearly.

He was flat on his back, hands resting neatly at his sides. Head straight. Eyes closed. He could have been dead. The cloying scent I'd noticed when I first came down finally made sense, and I was almost sick when I realized . . . it was him. Elijah's skin burned and sizzled wherever it came into contact with the flower petals.

"Oh, my god," I gasped.

_In my inside jacket pocket, there's a knife you can use to sever the chain on my throat,_ he said quietly, again only in my mind. His voice as solid and real as it would have been using his voice.

Chain? I hadn't even noticed it. A slim silver chain, very fine. Like something weaved together using cobwebs. As far as I could tell, it wasn't attached to anything. Not bolted to the floor or tied into a knot. It looked delicate and rested only lightly against Elijah's skin. By the light from my phone, I could see that it wasn't burning him. It just lay there, draped over his throat.

I reached to lift it off of him, knowing it couldn't be that easy but trying anyway. The chain stayed where it was. I tried to curl my fingers under it and lift it up but again, nothing happened. The little chain made from silver cobweb was heavier than a tractor. I couldn't remove it.

_Rachel,_ Elijah thought, with more than a touch of irritation. _In my inside jacket pocket there is a knife. Use it to cut the chain._

Right. I winced. While I was screwing around, he was still burning on the bed of flower petals.

I put my phone down, screen up and carefully peeled back his coat. A dark wool coat he wore overtop his usual suit. Something cold gummed my fingers and I pulled my hand back, frowning and looking at it in the glow from my phone. Something dark was smeared on my hands. Blood.

Eyes widening, I moved quickly to look. Slapping my hands against Elijah's chest and there, dark like ink staining the white of his shirt was a splash of blood soaked so heavily into his clothes that it hadn't even begun to dry. Instead, it was congealed. Thick and cold and gummy.

"What happened to you?" I demanded. Then, without meaning to, I sent the words to him via the channel he'd opened between us. _What happened, Elijah?_

_The knife,_ he said pointedly.

Yeah. The knife.

Despite the situation, reaching into Elijah's jacket felt . . . intimate. It was the weirdest thing and completely inappropriate for the situation but there was the slightest squeeze around my heart. I found the knife easily and grasped it by its handle when I pulled it out. The blade was long and smooth, with only one wicked looking hook at the tip, which turned back sharply. The knife was ivory white, not steel as I'd expected.

I held the knife, clenching it in my fist and glanced quickly over my shoulder to check on what Rayzael was doing but that, too, was gone. The illusion evaporating into the air when I stopped paying attention to it. Swallowing nervously, I turned back to my vampire and used the knife's hooked tip to cut the chain, severing the links with astounding ease. The chain split in half and slid off both sides of Elijah's throat.

Silence.

For several long, agonizing seconds nothing moved. The light from my phone dimmed and switched off. I put my hand down, grasping blindly for the device and when my fingers found the slim piece of plastic I pressed my thumb against the screen to turn it back on. The light was startling, after even only that little bit of time spent in darkness.

But in that glow, I saw dark of a different kind.

Onyx-brown eyes met mine. Deep and dark with familiar cunning and strength and emotion. With the chain gone, Elijah was free.


	40. Chapter 39 - Romantic Interlude

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 39**

**ROMANTIC INTERLUDE**

* * *

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable.

It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone

can get inside you and mess you up."

– **The Sandman, Vol. 9**

_Neil Gaiman_, author

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

_Rachel was right,_ Elijah thought. _They did spend a lot of time in his room._

Instead of taking her home after escaping from the Trickster's trap, Elijah brought her back to the compound with him. It was late and the city was alive with noise, glistening like a jewel in the night. But here, in his home, there was peace. Quiet. With the evening they'd had, Elijah found himself reluctant to leave her, but not out of any concern for Rachel's safety. No.

He was being selfish. Elijah wanted Rachel to stay – for a little while at least – simply because he didn't want to see her go. He wanted to keep her with him, for as long as she would let him.

To be fair, if she had asked to go home he would not have denied her.

She did not ask.

Instead, his human soul-mate stood in the centre of his sitting room, arms crossed over her stomach with a look of utter dejection on her face. He didn't press her to speak with him. To share her thoughts. He didn't need to. Their bond trembled beneath the weight of responsibility. Rachel recognized that something significant had been set in motion. She didn't know what, but Elijah could sense it too. They were being _**maneuvered**_, not toyed with.

"So many games," Rachel muttered tiredly. "Is anything in this city real?"

"Some things are," Elijah responded. Gray and amber eyes lifted, meeting his gaze and then slid away. She understood what he meant, and Elijah nearly winced. He hadn't meant to say that. A tactless thing to offer her right then. But the words were not any less honest for it.

His feelings for her were very real. Love was rare, he knew. It was precious. What he had here with her could never be replaced. And even if it could, he wouldn't want it to be. Elijah hesitated, momentarily warring with himself but when Rachel continued to stand forlornly silent he went to her.

_We were tested. Tonight was meant to strengthen our bond, in preparation for something more. We will face this thing together._

He deliberately used their newly discovered telepathic speech, hoping that the inherent intimacy of speaking directly to her mind would sooth her. Bring her back to him. Elijah kept his gaze fixed with hers as he spoke, needing to assure himself that she was hearing him. The understanding in her eyes told him that she did.

Swallowing Rachel took a breath and surprised him by responding in the same manner: _How can I trust anything that happens to me in this city, Elijah, when nothing here is what it seems? So many games and . . . lies._

For a moment, Elijah was at a loss for what to say. Rachel meant the Trickster, of course. He couldn't excuse the creature's deception and so he did not try. She believed him to be only a friend. Human. And that was important. His mate very much needed the company of others like herself. Mortals. She was human, being pulled and stretched in every supernatural direction this city had to offer. She craved the comfort of normality. Familiarity. And Elijah would encourage her human friendships, even though he saw the deeper misery she was setting herself up for.

She could never be just like them.

Even should every threat vanish tomorrow. The demon gone. The Bone Witch and the Trickster both having abandoned their unnatural fascination with her . . . Rachel would be forever different from her peers. She was a mated soul. There had been others throughout history, of course. Hundreds spread out across time. But the rarity of soul-mates made it so that he and she could very easily be the only pair in the world at that very moment.

Startled from his inner thoughts, Elijah only realized that he hadn't responded to Rachel's question when she broke away from him. Her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Long hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of golden threads. Fury spiked over their bond.

"I hate this," she ground out between clenched teeth. "There's too much. It's all stacking up, one on top of the other like a tower that's going to topple over and crush us. Do you see it? The mess we're in?"

"I see," Elijah said. Her frustration stemmed from thinking that the threats they faced were being ignored, but what Rachel didn't know is that Niklaus had been relentless in his pursuit of her missing cousin. Elijah was after the demon, fixing defenses against another attack while searching for some way to destroy the creature entirely rather than dispel it back to the netherworld as Rachel's ancestor had done. And Rebekah . . . well, his sister was away. She was given her own assignment and had accepted it with great enthusiasm.

What Rachel did not know is that none of them had been idle these past few weeks.

"I found out that the ancestor I'm supposed to find, Thomas – the jackass – is just over a hundred years old. I was elated when we discovered this but then I realized that it doesn't really matter. Sure, I narrowed the window of when he might have been born from all of history down to a single century but it _**does not**_ matter. I have no clue who this guy is."

Elijah said nothing, sensing Rachel's need to just vent her thoughts and relieve some of the pressure building within, but his mind caught the words. So, this ancestor of hers was only slightly more than a hundred? She might think that was only a small piece of information, a minor discovery, but he knew better. This . . . this was something that could be used to find the man.

"And why the hell does Rayzael need _**me**_ to find the idiot anyway?" she raged, not raising her voice but with a passionate fury that spoke of her exhaustion and frustration. Elijah thought that if she had been a vampire there would have been blood filling her eyes. She was angry and that anger needed a focus. Why not the demon? "So Rayzael thinks Thomas has been evading detection by staying close to the supernatural. Vampires specifically, which is why he threw me that stupid ultimatum. Use my _**'in'**_ with the vampires to get close. Find Thomas the double-crossing idiot who got _**himself**_ into this mess by bargaining with a demon in the first place. I mean who even does that? He had to know eventually he was going to have to pay up. What was his plan? Just evade the thing forever? And why can't Rayzael do this himself, just because the guy he wants is hiding out with vampires?"

Rhetorical question. Rachel did not expect a response but Elijah answered her, "Because the vampires would recognize the creature on sight. It could never pass unseen amongst us. You, however, though clearly human would not draw attention."

So would the witches. The werewolves. Most anything would instantly recognize the demon as something lethal and dark.

Just as quickly as it came, Rachel's temper cooled. Exhaustion weighing her fear. Her frustration. That suffocating sense of helplessness that she detested but could find no way around.

"What are you thinking?" She asked him, softly, after a moment.

Elijah offered a small, conciliatory smile and gently brushed a few trailing strands of golden brown hair back, tucking it neatly behind her ear. Rachel turned her cheek into his palm, accepting his touch with a tenderness that sparkled warmth over their bond. He smoothed his fingers along her cheek, down to her chin where he gently lifted her face up to his.

"I'm thinking that in a thousand years, no one has successfully stood against my family," he told her. "We have never been defeated. Not once, Rachel, and you are very much a part of this family now."

She returned her own hesitant smile. "The weakest part."

"The most well-adjusted," he countered.

She gave a small laugh. "Are you sure about that?"

"That you are the most well-adjusted? Oh, I don't doubt it."

He really didn't.

Rachel tilted her head to the side, then lowered her eyes and paused. Effectively distracted by the splash of dark wetness staining Elijah's white shirt. The fabric was ripped. Shredded with tattered flaps that hung down and to the side, showing unmarked skin beneath. It wasn't hard to deduce that something large had been driven straight through. Rachel carefully placed her hand over the hole. Elijah's skin cool against her palm.

"What happened here?" she asked.

Elijah shrugged one shoulder. He had completely forgotten about the trauma, and was even a little surprised to be reminded of it. Rachel turned her gaze full on him and narrowed her eyes.

"Did he . . . you actually had your _**heart**_ ripped out?" she asked, with a heavy emphasis on the word.

"I did," Elijah said.

She knew what he was. But now, faced with the evidence of his immortality, how would she react?

Rather than confuse or unsettle her, Rachel seemed almost enchanted. She kept her hand where it was, gentle on his chest. Directly over his heart beating strong. She curled her fingers into the tear in his shirt, brushing his skin with warmth.

_You knew I couldn't be destroyed,_ Elijah thought to her.

"I did," Rachel said out loud. Then, _This is incredible. I believed you, when you told me you couldn't be hurt but seeing it for myself . . . you really can't die?_

_No,_ Elijah said. _You will never have to fear losing me._

"Not to death, anyway," Rachel muttered.

"Not to anything," Elijah countered.

No. Not to anything . . . Rachel closed her eyes and breathed deeply, releasing the tension from this evening. From the horror of finding herself face-to-face with the illusion of the demon who haunted her nightmares. Of thinking Elijah might have been hurt. Might have been dying. She'd sensed his pain. Knew he needed her. And she'd doubted herself. But she did well and Elijah, through sheer force of will, managed to break through the last barrier in their minds and open the channel necessary for their telepathic speech.

The Bone Witch had gone to quite a lot of trouble to _**'help'**_ them. To prepare them for what was coming. And now, for tonight at least, she would be gone. Hiding in some dark corner somewhere, trying to evade the Trickster's wrath. The creature itself would return, eventually. Elijah didn't doubt that, either. The fire he saw so clearly in Rachel seemed to draw those of power to her. Helpless as moths to a candle flame.

Rachel took a breath and tilted her face up, meeting him. Her eyes shining in the half-light spilling in from outside. Elijah pressed his forehead to hers, breathing deeply of her apples and orchard scent. She smelled like summer and grass and sunshine. His chest tightened, aching with what felt almost like longing as he imagined what their lives might have been like had a thousand years together not been stolen from them. Or, if not a millennia, than at least one life. Their mortal lives, as the universe originally intended for them.

"Where do you go, when you do this?" Rachel's voice was soft, slipping easily through Elijah's distraction like a caressing hand. Bringing him back to the here. The now. "You disappear so completely into your own head sometimes. Elijah?"

There was little point lamenting what could have been. They couldn't change their pasts but for every year denied to them, he intended to live a thousand more just like this.

Well, perhaps not _**exactly**_ like this. Tonight had been interesting to say the least, but for all the wrong reasons.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked her, very quietly.

She hesitated a moment, uncertain of herself. What did she want from him? But then a slow smile pulled at the corners of Rachel's mouth. Her eyes sparkled with spirit and humor but there was still that faint tremor in her mind. "I think I want you to lie to me. Tell me everything's going to be just fine, and that whatever happens next won't be that big a deal. That the people I love are safe. Tell me here's no reason to be afraid."

Elijah edged closer, purposefully bringing himself within the circle of her warmth. Her scent, so soft coming off her skin. Wanting her to feel his strength, the way she shared hers with him without ever knowing it. To draw from his certainty, even though he wasn't certain at all.

"There's no reason to be afraid," he assured her, jokingly echoing her words.

Rachel laughed, low and tossed her head. Her heavy fall of honey brown hair swinging over her shoulders. "Are you lying to me?"

Possibly. More than likely . . .

Elijah lifted one hand, finding himself uncharacteristically hesitant. He gently brushed his fingers over her fair skin. His thumb meeting at the corner of her mouth. Rachel's pulse skipped beneath his palms. Her smile faltered, lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes a moment before she turned up to him again.

"It's okay," she said. Silently added, _It's fine, Elijah. I understand._

His brows rose in question. Elijah could hear her heart beating, the rhythm steady but the pace quickening. She was suddenly nervous and for a single, blissfully ignorant moment he wasn't sure why. Then he felt the roll of hunger deep inside, so much more pronounced than a desire for food. It was a craving for replenishment. For the lifeblood vampires used to sustain themselves.

Elijah closed his eyes, mentally reciting a litany of curses.

His soul-mate had become aware of his need before he had. And she . . . she was all there was. His only source of blood in the world. Elijah vowed to repay the Bone Witch for this particular bout of foul magic, if for no other.

"It's fine, Elijah. Really," Rachel said again, trying to reassure him.

Elijah nodded, releasing his emotions through their soul-bond. He needed her to know what he felt, even if she couldn't make sense of all of it. It was important to him, that she understand; he hadn't brought her home with him tonight for ease-of-access. The curse made him hunger for her blood, but it was _**her**_ he craved so passionately.

Swallowing his desire, Elijah tilted Rachel's face to his and looked right into her eyes. "You're certain?"

"Yes," she said. Smirked and then added, "Go ahead, vampire."

Her heart was hammering. Beating like a drum in his head. He could hear it, but more was the liquid rush of blood flying through her veins. Calling to him. Or, if not to him, than to the accursed hex placed on him. In all of his life, he had never been so reluctant to feed before. Even knowing that he would not hurt her and that she would be alright afterwards, he didn't want to do this . . .

Elijah lowered his head, pressing his mouth to Rachel's throat and felt her bracing against him. An instinctive flinch as she anticipated the sharp pain of his teeth cutting deep. Her skin was hot. He intended to bite her quickly. To feed and end the gnawing hunger that was only because of the copious amount of blood he'd lost tonight. But now? Feeling her pulse vibrating beneath his mouth he couldn't be so impersonal with her. Couldn't do anything but slide his lips over her skin. Couldn't stop himself from inhaling her scent. He ran his fingers through her hair, letting the silky strands slide over his knuckles.

He pulled her closer. Opening his mouth, he slid his fangs sensually over her racing pulse and chuckled at her gasp. Her quick indrawn breath. Elijah trembled, the desire to bite down and taste the richness of her blood sweeping through him like the most exquisite pain.

Warmth trailed up, over his chest. Burning hot through the fabric of his shirt. He could feel Rachel's hesitation in the softness of her touch, but her hands were sure as they slipped over his throat. Fingers curling lightly behind his ears. She turned him, bringing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss that stole his breath.

He could have stopped it. Gone slower, feeding the heat and desire inside both of them steadily higher until neither one could stand the fire . . . but he didn't. His little human mate, inexperienced and uncertain, did not wait passively but had instead chosen to make her own demands. To show him what she wanted an Elijah found himself willing and even eager to see what she would do.

_Let her explore,_ he thought with an inward grin. Rachel gave no indication that she even noticed, at first. That Elijah had given over control of the situation. He would rise to meet her, and build on what she began but he made no requests of his own.

Rachel was passionate. That did not surprise him. The fire in her burned bright, and he basked in its heat. His senses alive with the feel of her. Her soft, warm body against his. Her taste. Her scent. Her hands in his hair, drawing him in. Closer. Nearer. Always nearer.

The blood on his shirt was still wet, having spilled too quickly and soaked too deeply for it to dry. Not wanting to get any of his blood on her, Elijah swiftly pulled his ruined shirt off popping buttons along the front as he did. Because of how his shirt was made, he did not need to pull it up over his head to do this and so did not have to break the kiss. Rachel slid closer, unaware of its removal. Her fingers combing through his hair.

She was more than passionate. She was courageous. He could clearly sense her hesitation in every stroke of her hands and press of her lips but she did not stop. She did not pull away in embarrassment as another might have. She explored her own limitations, finding what she liked. What she wanted. And Elijah was caught in the wake of that discovery. Wanting to show her, to retake control but he held himself firmly in check. Giving her this moment.

However, he could not stop his hands from slipping over her waist. Thumbs pressing into the soft skin of her belly and the sensation of her shiver of pleasure nearly shattered his restraint. She wanted him, her mind melting with his; with the hope that her desire would spark his own. Elijah was quite aware she was taunting him, trying to provoke him over their link. She believed he would not rise to her demand. She should have known better than to challenge an Original.

Hands fastening at her hips, holding her tightly he tugged one and allowed himself to fall backwards onto his bed. Taking Rachel bodily with him. She tumbled on top of him, her hair falling forward in a curtain of golden brown strands. Rachel gasped, startled by what he had done but not alarmed and her hands slid down, caressing lightly against his chest as she realized she touched cool, naked skin rather than soft cotton . . .

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

Skin.

I expected to feel his shirt beneath my hands but there was nothing there. Only skin. Shock cooled my desire fairly quickly. I stayed still, hands just hovering over Elijah's chest. Close enough to feel the coolness, the absence of radiating heat as there would be if he were human but not touching. I might have gotten carried away. My lips felt swollen and I was just a little out of breath, reminding me that I breathing was actually a necessity. Had I breathed at all while kissing him? I wasn't sure. I couldn't remember anything over the feel of him. The strength of his body against mine. His hands hard, strong but never quite rough though I'd been aware of the steel of his body. Muscles coiling with want and desire and restraint.

Of course Elijah noticed that I stopped kissing him and was, essentially, frozen over him. Heat flooded my face as I took note of our rather compromising position. I was on top of him. We were on his bed, and I was on top of Elijah. Draped over his body, with my hair falling around us like a privacy curtain. Not quite touching him, despite this. I used my arms to prop myself up but kept my hands carefully back from touching the bare skin of his chest.

For a second, my emotions whirled to where I couldn't make sense of what I was feeling. Was I embarrassed? Yes, a little. This was . . . intimate. Our first kiss had been mind-blowing and this one had been an avalanche of sensation just teetering on a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain. But actually being on him with that wide, smooth expanse of skin right there did seem so much more intimate.

It surprised me quite a lot to discover that I wasn't scared. No little tremor of uneasiness. No desire to stop. No pushing myself off of him.

Mostly, he only just surprised me.

And that is why I'd hesitated. Startled. Not afraid.

I didn't mean to send him those thoughts, and I don't know if he read them or not. But Elijah smirked, his eyes shining onyx in the dark room. Reflecting the light spilling in through his windows. I drew a deep breath, my head full of the scent of him. Of man and forest and the sharper tang of blood from his wounds earlier in the evening. Desire shivered through my body.

Eyes locking with his, I placed my hands on him.

Oh, god.

His skin was cool and smooth. Flesh covering hard muscle that bunched and rolled beneath my palms and I slowly slid my hands over his chest down to the ridges of his abs. Elijah's sharp gaze smoked over, and excitement zinged over our bond. Sharp and fast as quicksilver. Like liquid light flying between us. It was amazing. I didn't know how it was for other people, those without the soul-bond connecting them but being able to _**feel**_ what Elijah was feeling simultaneously with my own pleasure was beyond exciting. Beyond pleasure or pain or understanding. I could feel him in every cell of body.

His hands came up, sliding around to tangle fingers through my hair. He tugged, gently, bringing me down to him and then he kissed me. Again . . . and again. My heart thundered. He let his hands slide lower and I felt every brush. My body sensitized to him. His hands moved to my hips, fingers curling into the denim before slipping under the hem of my shirt. Cold-hot chills rolled through me, raising goose pimples all over. My blood felt thick and hot, but liquid fast in my veins.

I gasped, my breath hiccupping in my lungs and Elijah smirked against my mouth. I felt his natural mischievousness and his passion cresting a moment before he flipped us. A blur of speed, a quick glimpse and a reminder of what he was. It was exciting, not frightening and I brought my arms up to curl around his neck and bring him back to me in another searing, impossible kiss that stole what was left of the air in my body.

Oxygen was so overrated.

Elijah kissed like a man dying of thirst. Long, luxurious pulls where it seemed as if he were savoring every drop. He moved over me, pressing me into the mattress and I could feel his weight like a familiar dark night descending but he was careful not to crush me beneath him. My tongue brushed fang, causing another furious shiver. Elijah hissed softly, drawing back. Placing little more than a breath of space between us.

_Your phone,_ whispered through my mind.

I blinked, confused and a little dizzy. I couldn't even hear the buzz from my pocket, indicating an incoming call over the rush of noise in my head.

"Your fourth call," he whispered against my mouth. Strong, cool hands moved up my denim-clad leg, then slid into the slim pocket of my jeans and pulled my phone out for me. My heart was still going a mile-a-minute and his touch thrilled me all over again but my brain had kicked back into gear. I was tracking.

My phone. My phone was ringing . . .

Goddammit.


	41. Chapter 40 - Difficult Decision

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**A QUICK WORD FROM DAYSTORM: **_In honor of the season 2 finale of the Originals tonight, I'm updating! :D I seriously finished this chapter just as the sun was coming up. Yep. I pulled an all-nighter._

_Enjoy!_

_DayStorm_

* * *

**Chapter 40**

**DIFFICULT DECISION**

* * *

"I don't understand people who say they need more _'Me Time'_. What other time is there?

Do these people spend part of their day in someone else's body?"

– **Winston S. Churchill**

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

"Yeah?" I croaked into the phone, hoping I didn't sound as breathless as I felt. In my haste to answer the call, I didn't check to see who it was. If it was my dad calling, well . . . he didn't need to know he interrupted one of the hottest make-out sessions in history.

Becky's voice came over the line. Loud and _**furious**_. "What happened to you?"

I blinked, thrown by the question. Elijah was still right on top of me, watching – and listening – with an almost devilish glint in his ebony eyes.

I said, "What?"

"You vanished," Becky said, shooting it out like an accusation. "We carpooled to the party and you just left me there!"

Party. The Halloween party at the cemetery. I winced, closing my eyes. Shame. Definitely embarrassed now. But mostly shame and the strangest burst of amusement to where I wanted to giggle. She thought I ditched her. Well, I had. But not on purpose.

How was I supposed to know that Ryan was going to electrocute me into unconsciousness, abduct me, take me to an abandoned house outside the city where I would be pitted against my worst fear in some twisted attempt to get me to break past the terror so that I could rescue my immortal vampire soul-mate?

Yeah. Not happening. I could not have seen that coming . . .

"Are you okay?" I asked Becky. "Where are you?"

"I'm home," she said sharply, still sounding mad. "Hitched a ride with some girls from school. They dropped me off, I dunno, ten minutes ago."

My gaze snapped to the large antique clock I could just see through the bedroom door in Elijah's sitting room. It was 2am. Oh. Now guilt made its way past my giddiness.

"I'm so sorry," I said into the phone, hearing Becky bristle in the following silence. "I left with Ryan and we, uh . . ."

The best lies were steeped in truth. I did leave with Ryan. But honestly, my lie ended there. I wasn't sure what to say, and it goes to show just how powerful the soul-bond is that the mere idea that I might have left with Ryan for a reason that wasn't quite innocent didn't even occur to me. It occurred to Becky, though. The way I sort of trailed off, not finishing my thought might have clued her in and she made up her own mind about what we were doing.

She giggled; temper dissolving at whatever imagery was playing in her head. Heat filled my face and Elijah tilted an amused smile. I pressed up against him, trying to convey that I wanted him to get off of me but he didn't budge.

"You could at least let me know you were going," Becky insisted. "I was looking for you!"

'_**Move'**_, I mouthed to Elijah. That infuriating little smirk widened.

"I meant to," I lied through gritted teeth, glaring at the vampire who refused to budge. Very aware he could hear both sides of this conversation. Aware, too, that he was too strong for me to just shove him off and that he took a perverse pleasure in knowing that _**I**_ knew it.

Becky asked, "So, you're with Ryan now?"

"No!" I said, emphatically.

_Elijah, get off of me!_ I said, using our psychic channel.

And . . . he did. Apparently that's all he was waiting for. Trying to get me to embrace this new gift. I nearly rolled my eyes.

_What a child,_ I muttered to him and he smirked.

Standing in the moonlight, bathed in the soft silver rays that caressed his skin with light he was breathtaking. I didn't even hear what Becky said next, too caught up in watching Elijah walk towards his heavy set of drawers where he stopped to pull out a sweater. Enchanted by the way he moved. Like liquid. The smooth slide of skin over muscle. He was only half-dressed. Dark shoes. Slack. A glossy black belt. Some blood smeared on his skin but it did nothing to distract from the perfection of his body.

My mouth went dry. It didn't help that I could still taste him. My head was full of his scent and my entire body hummed at the mere memory of his touch and what it had done to me.

"So, you're good?" I asked Becky, my voice thin. "I mean, you're safe. At home. You're good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she responded. "I'll call tomorrow. Get some rest. You sound tired."

Tired. Right.

She hung up and I clicked off my phone. Hesitated. My hand tightened around the slim piece of plastic. It felt very warm. Heated from my body when it was in my jeans pocket, but also from being pressed against my face. I was sitting on the end of Elijah's bed, his sheets rumbled from what we'd been doing prior to my phone ringing. But my mind, the part of my brain I decided I hated, was already wandering to less pleasant things.

Like the reason for being in Elijah's home, rather than my own. Earlier in the evening, at the large house outside the city. Down in the cellar. I suddenly remembered something I'd completely dismissed before and I don't know why I would think of it now. I looked across at Elijah. He sensed my very sudden shift in mood, of course. Seeing the expression on my face, he turned fully around to face me.

"What did the demon mean; you would be the death of me?" I asked, without any preamble.

Elijah seemed taken aback, but not even a flicker of that surprise showed in his eyes. "The demon you saw was only just an illusion, conjured to test your resolve, Rachel."

He didn't answer my question, I noticed. A hated and unwanted suspicion seeped into me. I knew that the demon wasn't real. I understood that the things it told me was only just Ryan's words. I also suspected I knew what it meant by them, but I was looking to Elijah to tell me I was wrong. And he hadn't.

I clasped my phone to my chest. Stood up, not quite comfortable sitting on the edge of Elijah's bed anymore. Not with that sweeping suspicion like a poison in my mind.

Elijah pulled his sweater on over his head. He wasn't going to argue with me half-naked, it seemed, and I lowered my eyes so that I wouldn't be distracted by the sight of that soft shirt draping over his skin. Sliding over that hard chest, down past his abs like a curtain closing on what I couldn't have . . . because of me. Because I brought up something that could have waited until later. Or not talk about it at all. I didn't _**have**_ to go there with him.

"Elijah?" I pressed, quietly.

"One of the many things I admire about you, Rachel, is your near-complete inability to lie to yourself," Elijah said, still not answering my question. Or, maybe he was. "For one so unsatisfied with convenient truths; one who sees things as they are, rather than as you wished they could be. I know you've considered what it means to be forever bound to an immortal. Don't ask questions you already have answers for."

He said it so quietly, so evenly, he might have been angry with me. But through our link I knew that he wasn't mad. He was careful. He felt suddenly very still in my mind. Emotions tightly leashed as he waited for my move. There was tension between us that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. Some wall had come down between us and my heart ached. I was . . . scared. Scared to say more. Some part of me was demanding I just shut up. Let this go. But again, I was stubborn and Elijah wasn't wrong. I needed the truth, no matter how badly it hurt.

"You're going to Turn me," I said. No question.

Elijah watched me with an almost frightening intensity in his dark eyes. A needle of pain pierced my heart as I stared at him from across the length of his room. Maybe sixty feet. He could cross that distance in a blink. But he didn't and I stayed where I was. Not running from him. Not this time.

"So that's it, then?" I asked, spreading my hands. "Unavoidable. Going to happen, no matter what? Perhaps I do lie to save myself from uncomfortable truths."

Even though I pulled back from him, closing myself off so that he couldn't read my thoughts through our bond I could still _**feel**_ his mind churning. None of that inner conflict showed in his expression, Elijah was too old and far, far too powerful to give himself away like that. From nowhere, the idea that Elijah would make for a terrifying enemy danced through my mind but I shoved it down.

Finally he spoke, "Were I to offer you this, the opportunity to live forever, would you deny me?"

"Would you deny _**me**_ the choice?" I countered, more sharply than I meant but I couldn't take it back. So I kept my gaze locked with his instead. Meeting him evenly because I refused to allow myself to be intimidated by this gorgeous, dangerous immortal.

I could feel his power, rolling like thunder over our bond. When we were apart, it reassured me. Kept me tuned to his presence, always there at the back of my mind. But when we were together, I found that his presence still soothed. Even now, I drew a measure of comfort from the feel of that power through our bond because I knew it would not be turned on me. No matter how angry Elijah became or how far I pushed him . . . I was safe. And knowing I was safe made it easy to go on. To keep talking, because this was a discussion that needed to happen.

"I would deny you nothing," Elijah said. His voice hard. Dark. "I would give you the world, if you but asked it of me. You must know that."

"I don't want the world, Elijah," I sighed.

"Then what do you want?" he asked, with only the faintest edge of challenge in that question.

"I want what I had," I said, blinking with surprise at the words. They were true, and I hadn't even known it until right that second. "I want my life."

I could not believe those words came out of me . . . this was one of those moments where I didn't know if I should laugh, cry or run away as quickly as possible. Shame burned, searing me from the inside. I caged my own mind. Deliberately shutting myself out of our bond, so that Elijah would not sense exactly how _**real**_ those feelings were.

Elijah held very still, but it was the stillness of restraint. He exercised a fierce control and now that I was fully out of his mind, I couldn't tell if he were trying to keep himself from coming towards me or if he was only just thinking. I had not been aware before just how difficult Elijah was to read. Our bond made understanding him so easy. Without it, his natural stoicism was painfully obvious. I would see only what he allowed.

I drew a shaky, shuddering breath and struggled to think of a way to undo the damage my careless statement might have caused. He was hurt. I didn't need our bond to know it. It was right there, in the stoicism itself. I hurt him.

I needed to fix this, but I would not dismiss what I just said to make him feel better. And I don't think he would approve if I did.

"My entire life has been hijacked, Elijah," I said, struggling to explain. "Everything is so out of my control. I've done my best to accept those parts that I can't change. But now you just turn around and tell me I have no choice about this, either?"

"What choice is there?" he demanded. "Soul-mates are forever. We share a bond that connects us – not our bodies or even our minds, but a rope through our very souls. That bond cannot be broken. The darkest magic could not change us. Nature itself is powerless to undo a soul-mated pair."

"I know," I shot back. "Christ, Elijah. I _**know**_. And not once have I give you any reason to think I would lose the soul-bond. If it were possible, I wouldn't let it happen. But can't you at try and see this from my side? I want to live, Elijah. It's not wrong of me to want to live."

I stopped, holding my breath. Actually not sure of what I just said.

Under Elijah's weary gaze, I struggled to control my rising temper. There was still no anger but I was frustrated. Confused. This was coming out all wrong! I knew what I felt but not how to express what those feelings were.

Elijah offered a rueful smile. Moonlight shone in, a pale glow that slid over his high cheekbones. Accenting his face in light and shadows. Deepening the beautiful onyx-brown of his eyes. My stomach quivered. My heart ached. Something inside of me was still shouting _"stopstopstop"_. Stop arguing with him. Don't risk losing this. I loved him and what we had, though imperfect, was worth preserving. Because it was _**real**_.

"Can you not see it from mine?" Elijah said, turning my words back on me. "You look forward and see your entire life stretched out before you. Your youth makes it so that you don't yet feel the downward draw of your own mortality. But it is there and I feel it acutely, even if you cannot. How long do you have, Rachel? Sixty years? Seventy? Eighty, if you're fortunate."

He closed his eyes briefly, a soul-wrenching sigh escaping his lips. A bolt of terror punched straight through my walls, zinging over our suddenly clear bond so sharply that I locked my jaw to keep from making a noise. Elijah's emotion, which he'd held so tightly to himself that I never – not once – imagined it was even there. As powerful as our connection had become, he never let me feel it.

He continued, unaware of the slip, "Finding you after a thousand years of solitude, only to lose you forever to a mortal death Rachel is cruelty unlike any other."

And in my mind, his voice: _The space of your lifetime, Rachel, is but a moment to me. It would be as if I were given a day, only one, knowing you will die tomorrow. Ever second brings us both closer to the moment I will lose you._

"I'm not trying to be cruel," I said, very quietly.

_I know,_ he assured me and warmth followed. A caress that swelled, soft and fierce at once. Exactly what his love for me felt like.

I closed my eyes, absorbing his telepathic touch and shivered. My heart breaking at the picture he painted. My pain would come from aging, and seeing that Elijah remained unchanged. But _**his**_ would be so much worse in that I would be gone. I would die and leave him alone . . . I wavered. My mind spinning with indecision.

Triumph slid over our bond, now. My eyes came up and this time, it was Elijah who lowered mental shields to keep me from reading too much. Clearly, he hadn't meant for me to catch that.

"So we've come back around," I said "to where we started. My lack of any sort of choice."

Elijah said, "Is it really so awful a decision?"

"I don't want to be a vampire," I told him tiredly. It was late and I really didn't enjoy fighting with him. I was running out of steam and I wondered if that is what Elijah intended. To chip away at my resolve, wear me down . . .

I balled my hands into fists, but kept them firmly down by my sides. I leveled a challenging glance at Elijah. "What would you do, if I just up and left?"

He lifted an eyebrow, questioning.

"If I went home," I explained. "Back to Seattle. Back to the life I had before coming here."

Elijah's silence was telling, and I bristled. "Would you stop me?"

"No," he said, and offered a taught smile. "Despite what you think, I am not holding you here. You are free to go wherever you like."

"Bull," I muttered. "You compelled both my parents to make sure I stayed in New Orleans."

"To keep you from _**running**_, Rachel." He was unapologetic. "Not to imprison you in the city."

"I can't leave you anyway," I said, after a moment. "So long as the Bone Witch's hex still has a hold of you, mine is the only blood in the world you can drink."

I had been effectively cornered, I realized in growing frustration. The witch! Sneaky creature.

I was going nowhere, because no matter what happened between us I would not drive Elijah to starvation. Or worse, to madness. A blood-crazed Original was the stuff of nightmares. I couldn't do that to this city, or to him.

Oh. Oh!

"You _**can't**_ Turn me," I said. "Not until that hex is lifted."

"Did you think I intended to Turn you _**tonight**_?" Elijah demanded with a frustrated sigh.

I had time. The sheer relief left me dizzy. Not very much time, I was sure, but time enough to come to terms with my fate. To maybe find a way free of it. Or to accept that there was no way out.

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

She feared Turning. She might not have even realized that's what she was afraid of. The act itself, the brief death she would experience before rising as a vampire in transition terrified her. She was correct, in that his hands were tied at the moment. He could not Turn her, so long as hers was the only blood in the world that could sate his hunger. He would need to free himself from the Bone Witch's power, first. And to do that, he would need to wait until the Trickster exacted whatever vengeance was owed for its temporary capture.

After that, Elijah's plans were less certain.

He intended for Rachel to join him in his immortality. In this, she was right. She had no choice. He would not lose her to death. Not after waiting so long to find her, never knowing what it was he searched through the centuries for but always feeling that restlessness. That driving desire to find . . . something. His missing mate, stolen from him the moment his mother bowed to Mikael's demand that she twist the natural order. She created the first vampires, making her children indestructible without having any idea that Elijah was part of a mated soul. And his mate would not survive the brutal spell.

He lost her a millennia ago.

And now, in a different place and time than was originally meant for them, she found him. They were together at long last. Rachel might not feel the thousand year separation – her soul might, but it was buried too deeply for her to be aware of it. _**He**_ felt it though. He'd lived ever second of it. And Elijah refused to return to that lonely existence. But of course it would not be the same as it was. To know her and then watch her die, he would go mad from the loss. He could not endure that pain. Where before he had been spared the horror of a dead soul-mate, now there would be no escaping it.

And Rachel. What would happen to _**her**_?

She was reincarnated, a thousand times or more. Living and dying, her soul unable to move on without him. But their soul-bond had not been completed. It existed but was dormant. Finding each other, that first meeting of the eyes was necessary to wake the power that would tie them together. Bringing them into that rare, perfect alignment.

Before, that hadn't occurred. They hadn't had the chance to meet.

But now? Should Rachel die, would she finally find peace? Leaving him forever alone. Or would she be dragged back into the world once more, forced to start over? Endure another grueling life in search of the one she could not remember. Searching for something she did not understand.

Despair swelled inside of Elijah.

There was no choice. For either of them, it seemed. He could not condemn Rachel to that fate any more than he could accept having to watch her slip further from him every day. Slave to her mortality. Not when there was another way.

But what would he do, should the time come and Rachel still refuse to let him Turn her? Could he make himself do it anyway, against her wishes?

For several long, merciless seconds Elijah considered that.

True, Rachel might resent him – or even hate him – for Turning her against her objections but at least she would be _**alive**_ to hate him. Not feeding worms beneath the earth. But could he do that to her? Pretend to accept her decision to remain human, and then snatch it away? If he did, how could she ever trust him again?

He was certain she did not know it, and he wouldn't tell her but Elijah valued her trust.

He had lived long enough to recognize the worth, and that the betrayal of something so fragile would cut too deeply for her to ever fully trust him again.

_What if Rachel didn't realize it was a betrayal?_ an insidious voice tempted. He could compel her, plant the idea in her mind to welcome becoming a vampire. While in transition his compulsion would fade, but once it was done he could simply re-implant the suggestion. As an Original, he had the power to compel vampires after all.

With a violent curse, Elijah shook his head.

No. He would have something real with Rachel, or nothing at all.


	42. Chapter 41 - The Original Brothers

_***It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.***_

**Chapter 41**

**THE ORIGINAL BROTHERS**

* * *

"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that don't work."

– **Thomas A. Edison**

* * *

_**POV – Elijah**_

"Was that absolutely necessary?" Elijah said. Rhetorically because clearly it was not, but Niklaus was in a mood.

The sun had only just come up, and dew dampened the grass. A breeze teased in his hair and from the trees across the street came the lively twittering of morning songbirds. Buttery sunlight glinted off the silver wind-charms hung from the tidy two-story home the Original brothers stood in front of.

Klaus let the body he cradled drop to the ground. Elijah's gaze followed the hard spray of blood that cut across the lawn, crimson and dark in the otherwise gentle morning.

"Necessary? No," Klaus said with a laugh. "But it was fun."

Blood dripped from his chin, splattering his shirtfront with those words. Klaus had made no effort to be clean in the killing, reducing the man's throat to a wet, glistening mess. It irritated Elijah that Klaus wasn't taking this more seriously, and had he known his brother intended to eat the very person they were here to see Elijah would have come alone.

The dead man now crumpled at Klaus' feet was a witch, and not a particularly powerful one. He had no real influence within the covens. No association to any of the many little dramas that plagued the city. As far as Elijah knew, this was only a minor spellcaster who had been living quiet peacefully in his modest little home. When Elijah agreed to accompany his brother to this place, he was made to believe they were only here to speak with the man . . .

What Elijah hadn't known, however, is that Niklaus had been terrorizing the witches these past weeks in his obsessive search for Rachel's cousin. A driving need to find this missing girl, which Elijah was now certain was fueled by some outside influence because this was ridiculous.

The one person who might very well have had the answers Klaus sought so desperately killed in a fit of impatience. Sighing, Elijah looked down at the body. At the sightless eyes staring up at the sky with a look of terror creasing his face.

Elijah said, "Has it occurred to you that whatever enchantment was used to alter your memories could easily have been placed on others? Niklaus, you may have just murdered the one who knew exactly what happened to the girl you seek. With the trouble you've gone through to find him, you would think you'd allow the man a chance to speak before killing him."

"You would think that," Klaus allowed. "But I know better. He had nothing to tell us."

Frustration fired through Elijah. "Then why are we here?"

Klaus didn't say.

He turned and sauntered up the short walk towards the front door of the small house belonging to his victim. Again, Elijah glanced down at the body on the pavement. He couldn't leave the corpse there, for any human to stumble upon. So he picked it up, hefting the deadweight over his shoulder and then shot forward. Flying past his brother to stop on the front step of the house. A small gray cat watched him from the window next door.

"She was here the day it happened," Klaus said with a tight smile, joining Elijah on the step. "Did you know that? I'm convinced Erin knew she would be Taken, and the last thing she chose to do with the time she had was to come here."

Taking the doorknob, he twisted and pushed the front door open. Neither vampire moved to enter the house. Elijah paused a moment, eyes narrowing as he stared at his brother. "Erin was aware of what was going to happen?"

"Don't know why that surprises you," Klaus said.

Elijah scowled.

Klaus swung his foot over the home's threshold. Finding no resistance, he smiled and stepped inside. Elijah followed with the body of the dead witch. Clearly the sole owner of the house for there to be nothing keeping out the vampires.

"I've been retracing Erin's steps from that last month, prior to her disappearance," Klaus went on. "And I've concluded that your little mate's cousin knew _**exactly**_ what she was doing. At first I thought she was running. Trying to hide herself from whatever she thought was after her but the sheer senselessness of her actions baffled me. Fleeing for her life, but then she would return home every night as if nothing was the matter? No."

_She wasn't hiding,_ Elijah thought. He moved through the front of the house, to the back where he found a small laundry room just off from the kitchen. He deposited the body inside and then quietly shut the door so that the corpse was hidden from sight.

Elijah returned to the living area to find his brother waiting for him. In his dark denim and leather coat, Klaus contrasted strikingly against the lighter colors the witch had used to decorate his home. Like an inkblot on white canvas. Admittedly, Elijah did not belong in this tidy little house any more than Klaus did but with any luck they wouldn't have to be here long.

Klaus continued speaking as if there was no interruption in their discussion. "Erin spent the weeks leading up to her disappearance among the witches. And save for a brief trip out into the deep bayou in search of the wolves, she made no attempt to escape the city." Klaus tilted a sharp smirk. "She bought spells. A charm."

"Did she find them?" Elijah asked. "The wolves?"

"No," Klaus said. "Though not for a lack of effort. She did search . . ."

There was no need to ask the next question, Klaus offered the answer without prompting. "Erin purchased a spell to ward magic from her bedroom, of all things. And one charm she placed on a bracelet, to deflect against unwanted sight."

"She felt she was being watched," Elijah muttered. That made sense. He didn't tell Klaus but Rachel herself had been hunted, always sensing eyes watching but never able to find from where. She hadn't been bothered by those presences since coming to the city but one might also argue that they stopped when she met him.

One more thing. Erin clearly knew of the existence of the witches and the werewolves. He'd suspected this but having Klaus confirm it made the mystery that was Erin Jameson all the more real. Who was this girl?

It was no great leap to assume she was also aware of the vampires.

It troubled him, not because the secret was out but that Rachel had been genuinely unaware of the existence of the supernatural right up until their soul-bond was forged. Knowing that, and knowing that Rachel and Erin had once been as close as sisters, made the question of Erin's identity just that much more confusing. Whatever was different with her, Elijah did not believe it had anything to do with the rest of her family.

Therefore the difference would have more to do with secrets – with things Erin knew – than with some sort of power.

Which again begged the question: what did Erin know?

Elijah turned to his brother, eyes narrowing. Klaus had progressed to critiquing a piece of artwork hung on the wall over the sofa. An unremarkable depiction of a steamboat on a wide, brown-water river. Most likely the Mississippi.

"The last thing she did was come here, to this house," Klaus repeated musingly. "She came here, came inside and then left. Immediately returning to the French Quarter. She did not detour. Did not speak to anyone. And not an hour later she was gone. Vanished from directly in front of her home, in broad daylight on a crowded street."

"And so you kill the man who lives here, without first taking a moment to discover Erin's purpose in coming to see him," Elijah drawled. "Brilliant, Niklaus."

"Nothing to be done for it, now." His mind clearly elsewhere, Klaus turned his head to look out of the large picture window facing the front yard. The trees across the street swayed as the wind gusted and for just a moment, Elijah thought he could smell static on the air.

"Rachel believes her cousin is alive," Elijah said, out loud for his brother's benefit.

"What do _**you**_ believe?"

Elijah said nothing. Truthfully, he didn't know.

"She's alive," Klaus said after a moment. "If she were dead, she'd be easier to find . . ."

Undoubtedly.

Warmth brushed the back of Elijah's neck, raising the little hairs there. A familiar, pleasant sensation like fingers sliding lovingly over his skin. He felt his heart increase its rhythm to match that of the girl who had only just arrived. Elijah straightened, brushing his hand down the front of his immaculate jacket.

"For one who gets around so easily, your mate did take her time getting here," Klaus remarked, becoming aware of her presence outside.

"My very _**human**_ mate, Niklaus," Elijah cautioned. "Try not to eat her, will you."

Klaus only just smiled.

* * *

_**POV – Rachel**_

There was blood on the grass.

Of course there was.

I lingered on the sidewalk for a bit, scuffing the heels of my shoes on the pavement. Thinking about things. Things such as how this should have surprised me but it didn't. A bloody lawn first thing in the morning? Sure. It bothered me, of course._ Whose blood was that?_ But I wasn't surprised. I wondered what that said about me . . . that I could just sort of accept something so grisly.

I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

Not that eating first would have made a difference. There was still blood on the grass, and I was here to meet two vampires. Hopefully _**not**_ for breakfast.

It was still very early and the sun was very, very bright in the morning sky. A cool wind gusted from the east, lifting my hair up off my neck and tangling the strands. But it felt good. Felt clean. I was officially running on less than three hours of sleep. A generous estimate. Honestly, I wasn't sure I was functioning on any sleep at all. Exhausted and heartsick, most of what I did after crawling into bed earlier that morning was spent staring at my ceiling.

I couldn't believe Elijah and I had a fight. Our _**first**_ fight.

It actually made me sick to my stomach thinking about it. I didn't want to be in a fight with him. What was worse is that I was the one who started it. I got so defensive! Guilt gnawed at my insides at how I'm the one who'd provoked what could have been a discussion into an argument. Admittedly not a very loud one but still. What had possessed me to bring up something so sensitive right when we were both still raw from the events of that night? The relief of having endured the Tricksters games, of knowing we were both alright coupled with the hot desire still heating our blood and setting fire to our emotions.

Neither of us had been in the right state of mind to talk about something as important the future of our relationship.

_Dangerous thing, falling in love with an immortal,_ I thought numbly. Elijah couldn't change what he was. But I could. And that frightened me more than I cared to admit. Because it meant the choice was mine. Elijah could not come back into my world, and I wasn't ready to join his. Where did that leave us?

Familiar warmth slid over my skin. The brush of power, like thunder without sound. I smiled a little and combed my fingers through my hair, shoving it back. Out of my face. Elijah was coming to meet me, striding easily down the short driveway and my heart actually ached from missing him. Dressed in a sharp black suit with a charcoal shirt beneath instead of the usual white. There was a roguish tilt to his smile, and the sheer weight behind those onyx-brown eyes so acute it was like a physical touch wherever the landed.

"What happened here?" I asked him, nodding towards the dark splash of blood on the grass.

Elijah stopped a foot away and sighed. Smiled. Said, "You would be far happier not knowing."

I didn't doubt it. But those words by themselves told me all I needed to know.

A moment of silence stretched where I waited for him to say more but he didn't. Our soul-bond trembled, like a hum that reverberated on the air between us. I fidgeted a little. Taking a breath, I tilted my head back to look up at him and offered a small half-smile. "You didn't think I'd come, did you?"

"I'm pleased you did," Elijah admitted. Very quietly.

He lowered his eyes a moment, and then returned his gaze to mine. I caught my breath at the sincerity I saw there. The warmth. And I thought that maybe Elijah wasn't too sure where we stood, either. I had no answer for him. Even if I did, a driveway was not the best place to settle important arguments.

So I straightened my spine and broke the tension by bringing us back around to business.

"So, what am I doing here?" I asked.

Relief sparkled over our bond, sharp and bright. Yeah. Elijah had no objection to saving our discussion for another time.

He said, "_**You**_ are here to answer questions for my brother. I'm here to make sure he behaves himself."

Oh, because that wasn't a scary thought.

"What does he want to know?" I said, hesitantly.

"He's been searching for your missing cousin," Elijah explained. "For months, now."

Well, this was news. I hadn't known that. The mere reminder that Erin had been missing for so long sent a sharp stab of pain straight through my heart. A pain I knew Elijah felt, too, because he shot me an equally sharp glance. I missed my cousin alright. But it was more than grief. I couldn't help but feel like I was failing her. What progress had I made in finding out what happened to her? None.

"What can I possibly have to say to Klaus?" I asked quietly. "He probably knows more about what happened to Erin than I would have if she spelled it out for me in her letter."

"Perhaps," Elijah said. "On the other hand, Niklaus would not have called for you if he believed you had nothing to offer."

I sighed and scuffed the heel of my shoe on the pavement. Glanced uneasily toward the modest little house sitting at the end of the drive. Front door hanging open. I couldn't see anyone moving around inside, but the sun shone so brightly off the windows that I was nearly blinded by it so no surprise that I couldn't see inside. I bit my lip.

"Fine," I said. Not exactly an enthusiastic answer. I bit my lip. "But, um, if Klaus suddenly lunges toward me you're going to stop him, right?"

"Of course not," Elijah said, teasing. I rolled my eyes.

"Look. I've seen you move. I've seen Klaus move. Know what I learned? Vampires are _**fast**_."

Elijah held out his hand, offering it palm-up for me to take. His ring shone, sparkling gold in the sunlight. "Is that what worries you?"

Worried? No. Not really even scared, either. Where was I going with this?

"You're safe, Rachel," Elijah insisted. Dark eyes bottomless. Hard. He meant it. I could feel the iron in his mind – our mind.

_I know,_ I thought. I slipped my hand in his, trusting. Truthfully I didn't believe Klaus meant me any harm. Not right then. But my traitorous mind was stuck on the idea that the last time Klaus and I saw each other . . . he'd essentially fed me to his brother.

Not exactly reassuring.


End file.
